A visitor to our home made an interesting observation about our children.

Jonathan, he said, was like a dog: he ran to the door, tongue wagging, eager to greet the newcomer. Emily, he observed, was more like a cat: she stole away as soon as she saw him coming; she was reticent, maybe even dispassionate. At the time I thought it was a harmless " and fitting " analogy. But as my children progressed beyond the toddler years, I realized people were not as accepting of my little cat-like daughter. Not everyone appreciated her uncanny ability to tune out a room full of people. There were the questions about her hearing. Did she have a problem? Then came that fateful afternoon when her pediatrician said in the most sophisticated medical jargon he could muster up: "I think Emily is off."

The next day (after a sleepless, teary night), I phoned our pediatrician at his office. "Emily is very strong-willed,"I told him firmly. "And she does have a speech delay. Those things I am willing to concede. But she is not ‘off.'" That was my first introduction to labeling. It was also the first step in my trek to find out what made Emily so different. Perhaps in the beginning I was trying to change her. I just wanted her to be a "normal" four-year-old girl. But what I ended up with was an appreciation for her uniqueness and a determination to let her idiosyncracies be her gift, not her disability.

Strike Up the Band
Emily doesn’t just march to the beat of a different drummer. She prances and dances and flits to that beat. Kinder people have called her "spirited" and "dramatic." She wasn’t always that way. She was such a quiet, undemanding baby. Emily was born in 1993, just after Hurricane Emily hit the East Coast. On her first birthday, I wrote in her journal: "My dear Emily, I thought you were going to be a hurricane, but you turned out to be a breeze." And she was a breeze, ambling through the two’s with little fanfare. How fortunate I was! But then she turned three and I found my assessment was a bit premature. The tantrums began. There were times we had to drag her screaming from stores and restaurants. Doctors and dentists felt her knee reflex whether they wanted to or not. When something upset her, it would set in motion a series of overreactions that took on a life of their own. And she never came out of these "loops" easily.

She seemed angry all the time.
It never occurred to us that her anger was hiding something else. That’s when I found Randy Reynolds’ book Good News About Your Strong-Willed Child at our local library. (I borrowed the word "loop" from his book.) I discovered that strong-willed children often express anger when they really feel sadness. I can’t tell you how much this changed our perception of Emily’s tantrums. We tried to talk to Emily when she got angry to identify what was really bothering her. Oftentimes we were amazed at her revelations: She was just plain sad. One day she was in the backyard playing with a neighborhood friend. The friend called Emily a name and Emily began to cry. I stood frozen at the kitchen window. I wasn’t feeling the pangs of unkind words; I was feeling amazement and relief because Emily felt sadness and expressed sadness. It was one of many milestones for our "off" child.

There were also some practical issues to consider. Emily did have trouble communicating. I’m sure this contributed to the constant frustration that often precipitated her temper tantrums. She also had that uncanny ability to block out everything and everyone around her. There were whispers of "autism"and "pervasive delay." We weren’t trying to deny reality, but we were not going to jump to conclusions either. My husband and I agreed to have Emily evaluated by a speech pathologist/audiologist. That’s when we found out the technical term for Emily’s problem. It’s called: "She tunes people out on purpose."

Right Brain, Left Out
Now that we knew nothing was "wrong" with Emily, we tried to understand what motivated her. The next big discovery came from the advice of another homeschooling mom. She had a "late blooming" child and suggested I read two intriguing books: Smart Moves, Why Learning Is Not All in Your Head and The Dominance Factor, both by Carla Hannaford, Ph.D. We learned that Emily’s learning profile is the one most likely to be labeled "learning disabled" in a traditional school setting. Not necessarily because she is, but because schools tend to favor the logical left brainers over the gestalt right brainers. Emily is definitely a right brain creative type, someone who focuses on the whole picture, someone whose learning is processed through movement and emotion. That’s why she loves to dance. She spends hours upon hours listening to everything from classical music to show tunes, making up elaborate dances that are pure emotional responses to what she hears. Not exactly a gift that translates well into a structured classroom setting.

In addition to uncovering her learning style, we also learned how to help Emily access her less dominant left brain, since linear processing is necessary in life too. Simple movements known as Brain Gym (conceived by Dr. Paul Dennison and explained in detail in Smart Moves) help to improve communication between the two sides of the brain. Once we started these simple activities, we saw significant improvements in Emily’s ability to communicate and to interact. But she also retained her amazing "right brain" qualities. (She has, for example, a scary ability to understand all things musical. Play a CD and she will tell you whether Steve Harley or Michael Crawford is singing the lead in "The Phantom of the Opera." She can also identify the music of a mbira, as well as tell you it hails from Zimbabwe.)

Emily is now 5 and starts kindergarten in the fall. She doesn’t have to worry about labeling at the school she’ll be attending (which will include, but not be limited to, the whole wide world.) Her speech is still a little fuzzy at times, but it’s improving daily. She has more self-control than we ever thought possible. She’s even taught herself how to read. She’s taking ballet and sitting quietly through 4H. And she continues to amaze us with her interpretive dance. Emily is emerging.

Last Christmas, I wrote a corny poem to send to friends and family, set to the rhythm of "Twas the Night Before Christmas." When it came time for me to recount the highlights of Emily’s year, I wrote the following:

Emily found her voice and its name is ballet
With twists, twirls and hops; an occasional plié.
She’s much like a flower that’s found the right spot
To unfold her petals, digging roots in the plot
That’s become her own special place in the sun
The sprouting of Emily has only begun.

Perhaps "blossoming" would have been a prettier word. But Emily doesn’t blossom. She sprouts. She exudes. She teems. And if that makes her an "off" child, then I’ll gladly accept the consequences.

Amy Hollingsworth is a freelance writer and homeschooling mother of two who lives in Fredericksburg, VA, with her husband Jeff and their children, Jonathan and Emily.

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