How To Learn To Love The Dandelion
 (Read 250+ times)
By Glory Lennon
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Our son Justin was only 18 months old when we suspected something was not quite right. It wasn’t until he was 27 months, however, that he was actually diagnosed with autism. (For information on Autism go to: http://www.helium.com/items/825110-recognizing-autism-in-toddlers )
I remember quite clearly the psychologist who saw Justin. He had roughly as much sensitivity as an ornery bull moose in an antique shop.
“Best you can hope for,”he said carelessly, “ is he might eventually stop banging his head on the floor. There’s not much chance he will ever have a normal life. He won’t drive, form friendships, have a job or anything like that.”
My husband Tommy and I were at first dismayed. Gradually though, when the initial shock wore off we grew to scoff at the vile description of that so-called expert. What did he know about Justin? He saw the little boy for hardly more than a half hour and he was going to plot out his life with accuracy? I don’t think so!
Justin was not, after all, in his natural setting at home where he was comfortable. Instead he had to go in an unfamiliar office with no windows, no TV and nothing familiar to him and he was there to see a man he never met before and to whom he took an instant disliking. If nothing else Justin is a great judge of character we soon found out. This office looked rather like a prison cell not a friendly place to calm the already jangled nerves. He should not be judged by his reaction to this new situation. Of course Justin was going to exhibit unruly behavior. Any kid, perhaps even an adult, would.
No, we decided the man knew nothing at all and even less about Justin, certainly less than his parents. We knew better and we would prove it, perhaps not to that “expert” but to ourselves.
So, life went on as normally as we could get it with the occasional allowances for Justin’s “peculiarities”. Everyone, we figured, was a bit odd in one way or another. So what if Justin was a bit more than a little odd? We would love him just the same, perhaps even more just because we can.
Justin was very attached to me even after the age of ten so it wasn’t unusual for him to tag along behind me as I went about the garden weeding, watering, planting seeds and cutting flowers to bring inside. As I worked he played with the tools I had inside a bucket. As he took each out I would tell him the name and for what it was used. The funky little fork tool for digging out nasty long-rooted dandelions and thistles was particularly intriguing to him. More so when he saw me using it.
“Get out you little....”I would mutter angrily under my breath, just barely stopping myself from saying an unacceptable word. After the struggle with the dandelion was done I’d sit there panting and glaring at it. Man, oh, man did I hate dandelions! Then I would throw it into the weed bucket with a , “Good riddance!”
This seemed to confuse Justin though he had no way of communicating it. He barely talked, you see. One or two word phases was all he could manage for quite some time.
“Flower?” he said pointing to the dandelion.
I grimaced. “Technically yes, it is a flower,” I said reluctantly. “A very nasty one.”
Then he looked at my huge patch of Daisies from which I just pulled the dandelion. He pointed to them and said, “Flower?”
“Yes, that is Daisy. Daisy is a very nice flower,” I told him taking one and handing it to him. “Pretty flower.”
I took the now wilted dandelion out of the bucket and showed it to him saying, “Weed, bad flower.” I didn’t think he would get it. How could he? I had often told anyone who would listen that a weed is merely a wildflower that had outlkived its welcome. I still hold to that but still dandelions were useless to me. I most certainly wasn't about to make a salad out of it!
Jusin looked at the daisy again then out onto the lawn which unfortunately was littered with, you guessed it, dandelions.
“Flower,” he said pointing to the yellow-poxed lawn.
“Not after I cut the grass,” I said ruefully. I hated cutting the grass but it was my job as the other kids were still too little for me to trust with such a dangerous thing as a lawn mower. But before I did that I needed to show Justin the difference between a nice flower and a weed.
I took him around the garden for several hours and named all the flowers, the “real” flowers for him. Rose, Lily, Iris, Daylily, Susan ( I didn’t bother telling him about the black eyes. It would only confuse him), Mare-gold, Glories, Jenny, 4-clocks, Tunia, and Biscus (Marigold, Morning Glories, Creeping Jenny, 4 o’clocks, Petunia and Hibiscus had to be modified for him. He couldn’t say 3 syllable words).
Soon he knew my flowers better than anyone except me of course. We picked a huge bouquet and brought it into the house.
“Pretty flowers we can bring into the house so we can see them up close,” I explained cheerfully.
Though I had fun showing Justin all the plants growing around us and he seem to enjoy it too, the lawn, however, couldn’t be put off any longer. It would rain the next day and then it would really be a bother to cut. It had to be done now.
“Wish I had a sheep,” I muttered with a sigh as I got out the mower and got to work. After a while I needed a rest and a drink. What should I find on the kitchen counter but a plastic cup full of dandelions. Justin had picked them and brought them to me. I started to laugh and it took a while to stop.
The work of the morning, all that time I spent teaching him the flowers was shot! He still thought the dandelion was a flower, a flower no less worthy of sticking in a vase to bring to Mommy. So, I took a really good look at the weed of my despair. It actually wasn’t that bad to look at, rather a bit like a small mum or a petite Zinnia in a sunshine-bright yellow. Not too bad at all if you can forget how much you hate them.
Well, I started not to hate them quite so much after that. Justin may have learned a lesson in naming flowers but I learned a lesson in weed appreciation. Not bad for a day’s work.
To this day Justin still will bring me a bunch of dandelions usually already wilted by the time he gets them inside. You see, he will pick them and carry them around on the lawn tractor as he cuts the grass, picking more as he goes along. Eventually cutting the grass became his job, his sole responsibility. So much for that psychologist’s prediction that Justin would never have a job!
Justin is my own Forrest Gump cutting the grass on the lawn tractor, because he likes doing it so much, with a pair of headphones blasting his favorite music, Billy Joel. This past April he turned 21 years old. 21! I can barely believe it. He may be legally an adult but to me he’s barely changed since he was six years old barely leaving my side.
“I cut the grass,” he tells me proudly, smiling brightly as he hands me the dandelions, his clothes and baseball cap strewn with grass clippings.
“Thank you, Justin. I love dandelions,” I tell him placing them lovingly into a tiny vase we keep on the windowsill just for such an occasion.
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Author Bio Box: Glory Lennon
 For amusing short stories visit http://www.helium.com/users/32782. For an intriguing novelette-in-progress visit: http://www.myspace.com/glorygarden.
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