Anyone who has seen these two together has noticed their special connection. Early on, Andy earned the title of Jukie Whisperer, for he can intuit Jukie’s needs and manage his sometimes challenging behavior with gentle, firm direction and greater ease than anyone else. Jukie listens to his daddy. And Jukie adores his daddy. They communicate differently than most fathers and sons as Jukie uses a combination of sign language, PECS, and his iPad to speak for him. But mostly, they communicate through love, laughter, and play. There is a delightful surplus of spontaneous affection in our home.
I often hear reports from friends and acquaintances of Jukie/Andy sightings around town. “I saw them riding down third street on their cargo bike,” they’ll say. “I saw them sharing kettle corn at the Farmers’ Market last Saturday.” “They were at an art gallery for a poetry reading, and Jukie was so well behaved.” People often compliment Andy’s parenting. He’s patient and sweet with our boy. He takes Jukie on adventures all over Northern California, and they are seen in museums, performance venues, and college lecture halls: places one might not think to take a kid with Jukie’s particular differences. What people don’t see is that Jukie is also teaching Daddy. Yes, Daddy works his parenting magic, but Jukie is the master teacher.
While Andy regularly practices Zen meditation, Jukie seems to live with Zen in his heart. Quietly attentive, Jukie’s natural state is peaceful and relaxed. He lives in the present with his attention sometimes focused on the beauty of nature: the wind in the trees, the clouds in the sky, and the French bulldog puppy in his lap. He studies pictures that he loves, pointing to show us what he notices. Sometimes out of context, loudly, and often, Jukie laughs, reminding us not to take life so seriously. He touches our faces when he wonders what we’re thinking. And he climbs in bed at the end of the day, and sometimes before the day has ended; Jukie always knows when he’s had enough.
If I’m being real, I need to add that it’s not always easy being Jukie’s mama. I worry all the time about issues that parents of typical kids don’t imagine. Sometimes his frustration overwhelms him, and he erupts. I fear that he could have an illness we will miss because he cannot tell us he’s in pain. I wonder if he yearns to communicate something more complex than what we understand. And I worry about his future life without the Jukie Whisperer and me.
When these thoughts threaten to overtake me, I think of Jukie’s teaching, and see the boy before me. I laugh with him. As we spin with our eyes closed, walk the greenbelts of Davis, take in the patterns of clouds after a storm, or taste each section of an orange as if it were our first, we are reminded of Jukie’s foremost lesson: We have today – be present.
