Rowan always spent the weekend with me. It gave the group home staff a weekend off and gave me alone time with him. When he came through the door he would head for the dust buster he named Dusty, chase the cats, Karma and Jinx across the kitchen for a hug, ask for something to eat and plop on the couch. Remote held tightly in his grip. For someone with autism and very low motor skills that kid can hang on tight to his “moke” as he calls it. He owns that remote for his entire stay.
While watching or rather scrolling through movie titles he sometimes strays to the left sidebar and clicks on whatever happens to be under the cursor, his favorite is the settings options. It’s not intentional, he just automatically clicks and scrolls, sometimes for hours. He could just accidentally click trying to get back the movie screen. I’m teaching him about the home button but he hasn’t quite caught on to it. While his uncoordinated fingers try and use the control it’s inevitable he’s going to accidentally change a setting. I call it just life with Rowan. Always an adventure.
But why does he always change the language. The only other languages I know besides English and some sign language. Not an option. He chooses German, Spanish, Chinese, or Farci. Do you know the required patience level required to imagine what your choice might look in another language, in other words guess, and hope you are able to get through the maze until the familiar word English comes up. He did it this weekend. It took an hour for me to get it fixed, thanks to google. Now I need to figure how he changed the instructions on the modem to Spanish before I really need them.
He’s done the same with his PlayStation and Xbox. That doesn’t much matter, it’s the game and graphics that entertain him not the words. And considering some of the games he likes to play, those words aren’t good ones in English anyway.
In the end, the language always gets changed back, eventually. The menus return to English, the buttons make sense again, and life settles for a moment. But the patience, the guessing, the laughter mixed with frustration—that’s the real language we’re learning together. Life with Rowan isn’t about keeping things set just the way I want them. It’s about adapting, letting go, and finding meaning in the detours. And apparently, keeping Google close by.
Rowan always spends the weekend with me. It gave the group home staff a weekend off and gave me alone time with him. When he came through the door he would head for the dust buster he named Dusty, chase the cats, Karma and Jinx across the kitchen for a hug, ask for something to eat and plop on the couch. Remote held tightly in his grip. For someone with autism and very low motor skills that kid can hang on tight to his “moke” as he calls it. He owns that remote for his entire stay.
While watching or rather scrolling through movie titles he sometimes strays to the left sidebar and clicks on whatever happens to be under the cursor, his favorite is the settings options. It’s not intentional, he just automatically clicks and scrolls, sometimes for hours. He could just accidentally click trying to get back the movie screen. I’m teaching him about the home button but he hasn’t quite caught on to it. While his uncoordinated fingers try and use the control it’s inevitable he’s going to accidentally change a setting. I call it just life with Rowan. Always an adventure.
But why does he always change the language? The only other languages I know besides English, is a little French and some sign language. Not any an option. He chooses German, Spanish, Chinese, or Farci. Do you know the required patience level required to imagine what your choice might look in another language, in other words guess, and hope you are able to get through the maze until the familiar word English comes up. He did it this weekend. It took an hour for me to get it fixed, thanks to google. Now I need to figure how he changed the instructions on the modem to Spanish before I really need them.
He’s done the same with his PlayStation and Xbox. That doesn’t much matter, it’s the game and graphics that entertain him not the words. And considering some of the games he likes to play, those words aren’t good ones in English anyway.
In the end, the language always gets changed back, eventually. The menus return to English, the buttons make sense again, and life settles for a moment. But the patience, the guessing, the laughter mixed with frustration—that’s the real language we’re learning together. Life with Rowan isn’t about keeping things set just the way I want them. It’s about adapting, letting go, and finding meaning in the detours. And apparently, keeping Google close by.
Still standing, finally in control of the “moke”,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 