Family
Perspectives on Parenting©
by Nancy Lambert Davenport

"Never A Dull Moment With Our Kids"

Summer is a time of open windows at our house whenever ever we can. It’s also a time of cleaning projects. My most recent kitchen cabinet redo reminded me of one of my son’s early and most infamous summer exploits.

Austin was about five years old. He had gone through some hair-raising episodes of walking out of the house without our knowing it when we thought he was asleep in his bed. I understand this is a chronic problem of young children with Down syndrome. Every parent has a story.

As a result of our own personal experiences, we put a slide lock on the outside of his bedroom door, so we could sleep at night. We had already tried fancy locks on the front door but our family was undependable about leaving it properly secured. I know it sounds abusive to lock the bedroom door, but we were desperate.

That particular cleaning day the weather was beautiful. I convinced Austin that it would be a wonderful time to clean and organize his closet. That is always a fun thing to do for us because children can find toys they have not seen in months and see them as almost new. Austin was no exception.

Together we pulled toys off the shelves, dusted them, and put them back. We threw things out, sat and read long lost books together, and generally had a wonderful time.

But Austin’s interest in the project waned, and he wandered in and out to check on his sister who was in our basement watching TV. (We were living in Lubbock at the time.) I wasn’t surprised. I knew he was becoming disenchanted with my inordinate attention to the details of organizing his closet, but I was determined to finish what I had started.

As he wandered out once more, I paid no attention—until I heard the quiet click of the latch on his bedroom door and then the firm smack of metal going into its place.

I froze, waiting for the sound of the bolt to unlock.

With careful restraint, I said, “Austin, unlock the door.”

Silence.

I repeated my plea again with the only response a slightly diabolical giggle.

Again I told him to unlock the door with my best firm-mother voice.

Finally a response: “Okay, Mom.”

I could hear the rattle and push on the other side of the door as he tried to unlock it. He became a little frantic, as did I. I tried pushing against the door as he tugged at the bolt. I tried pulling. Nothing worked. Then I began yelling for him to unlock the door only to get a plaintive, “I try, Mom.”

There was only one solution that I could see.

I began bellowing for my daughter to come. Of course she could not hear me. Our basement also served as a tornado shelter and was a huge concrete box—completely sound proof. I yelled anyway. It made me feel better.

I tried to calm down and told Austin to go get Liz. He responded with a quiet, “Okay, Mom.”

While I waited, I sat with my head in my hands, leaning against the door.

Austin didn’t come back, and I knew what happened. He couldn’t communicate to Liz what had happened and forgot about me. They were probably happily cuddling together watching TV.

There was only one option left. I removed the window screen and climbed out the window one body limb at a time, finally hanging there with head and chest inside and the rest of me out. The drop was about six feet, but I was desperate. I scraped my stomach on the ledge, broke a nail, scratched myself on a bush, and twisted my ankle. I cautiously stood up, dusted myself off, and limped around to the front of the house. I rang the door bell with a vengeance.

No one came Of course.

No one can hear the doorbell in the basement. I rang it some more anyway. After venting my frustration on the bell button, I began walking down the street trying neighbors’ houses. The only person I found at home was the very elderly, slightly deaf, mother of a friend. She wasn’t quite sure who I was so hesitated to let me in to use the phone especially after I babbled an explanation about why I needed to call.

I guess she figured no one could make that story up, so she allowed me to call Liz where I got a cheery, “hello.” Happily as a young teenager, Liz seldom allowed the phone out of earshot. I snarled to her to unlock the front door and gave a brief explanation why. Her laughter was echoed by the little old lady’s who finally figured it all out as I left her house. My only lift from the whole experience was her thanks for giving her something to tell her friends.

I said, “You’re welcome,” and hobbled home.

I still enjoy my summer cleaning even after all my kids are grown and gone, but I do it cautiously now—watching my back so to speak. And although Austin has grown way beyond antics like this one, I have learned never to be surprised at what one of my kids might do.

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Nancy Lambert Davenport>
EMAIL: nancdave@swbell.net
URL: http://www.nancyldavenport.com