Susan Senator

I gave the New Yorker the opportunity to publish a wonderful, moving bit of poetry, but they turned it down. I now give it to you, though it is not truly mine to give. I recorded these unintentionally poetic words uttered by Nat when he was about to turn five (eleven years ago). I came across them again recently. I now know that this was the beginning of his self-stimulatory talk, a common feature of autism, and something that was a huge struggle in our lives for the longest time. I eventually learned what self-stim talk means to Nat (it is a great source of comfort to him and I believe helps calm him and organize his thoughts) so I no longer cringe at the “silly talk” (his name for it). I cringe when other parents talk about getting rid of their children’s self-stim talk because I both understand their heartache and struggle, and wish that they knew what I know. I don’t mean that to sound arrogant. I just wish that we parents could learn faster and earlier just who our kids are and love them as they are. There is, of course, a thin line between loving them as they are, giving them the skills to help them succeed and thrive — and trying to shape and change them into something they’re not.

Anyway, I was and still am struck by the simple beauty, rhythm and emotional content of his words. If I had extinguished Nat’s silly talk when it first emerged, I would never have heard this haunting poem.

I call it “Dark.”

Dark
By Nat Batchelder, age 5

Stop crying,
Dark,
No crying in the dark.
Settle down, stop.
No running away
And stop running away.
No crying
You better stop,
You better stop crying.