The blinking LED signs of the mall’s cinema just across the supermarket where we left my wife attracted my son. He walked towards the foyer and stopped to watch the lights move from left to right to spell some acronym over and over again. I stood behind him, constantly reminding him to stay quiet and to keep his hands close to himself. It was time to teach him good manners while
in public places, I thought.
Tired, I held his hand and led him to the benches near the ticket booths. He resisted, as usual, and it took me quite a while to convince him to go with me. “It’s nice to sit calmly while waiting for mommy,” I reminded him, when he finally sat down a few feet beside me. A man reading a magazine was in between us.
After a few minutes, he suddenly stood up and ran to me, wanting to be cuddled. I felt a sharp pain in my ribs where one of his elbows had landed. I blurted out, “ouch!” It was not in the usual cartoon character voice that I use when I am playing him, and probably he sensed that I was really hurt. He kissed the spot where he knew his elbow had hit me, let his lips pressed against my chest longer than his usual kiss, looked me in the eyes for a split second, and said “no more.”
I have heard of a similar story before. Perhaps every mother has, at least once, tried the power of kiss to comfort the hurting child and I’ve seen my wife use the trick on my son a number of times. It is not surprising for a child to believe that a simple kiss can remove all the pain. But what makes my story worth telling is that my son has autism, and that he is still learning to talk.
And I am quite sure that none of his therapy programs include a lesson on using kisses to heal.
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