March 2009
Learning to make 'R' sound
By Riney Jordan

My friend of over 40 years is Dr. Paul Jennings. When I first met Paul, he was a speech therapist who loved kids and thoroughly enjoyed his work. Paul tells a great story about one of his first students.

The school records showed that little Raymond was 6 years old and desperately needed the help of a speech therapist. The first day Raymond came to class, Paul immediately recognized that Raymond had difficulty with the “R” sound. When you asked him his name, he simply said, “Waymon.”

Well, for weeks, Paul worked with Raymond to get that “R” sound at the beginning of his name.

“R-r-r-r-r-r,” Paul would say. “Look in the mirror with me. Make your mouth the same shape as mine. I know you can do it. Keep trying.”

Eventually, Raymond could say his name almost as clearly as Paul could say it. Oh, the feeling of success in the classroom! The sheer joy of realizing that you’ve made a difference in the life of a child!

That spring, during the school’s open house, Paul met Raymond’s parents for the first time.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” they said. “Our little boy really enjoys your class.”

“Oh, I enjoy him as well,” Paul responded. “We had a little difficulty at first with the ‘R’ sound, but he’s got it down pat now.”

“Very good,” his mother said, “and Waymond will see you on Monday.”

“Uh, what did you say?” Paul questioned. “You called him Waymond. His name’s not, uh, uh … Raymond?’”

“Why no,” she answered.

“Oh, goodness,” Paul said as his face began to turn beet red. “I’ve been working for weeks to get him to make that ‘R’ sound on the front of his name.”

“Well, that explains why he’s been calling himself ‘Raymond’ every time he meets someone. Do you mind working with him to go back to Waymond?”

“Not at all,” Paul said. “We’ll begin work on undoing my mistake first thing Monday morning.”

Oh, we still laugh about it every time we’re together. Hey, no one ever said that we were perfect. Now and then it’s good to admit we aren’t and laugh at ourselves when we make a mistake. It’s also refreshing to laugh at those things that invariably happen in every classroom.

I’ll never forget a story one teacher told me about a boy in her class. He had walked up to her desk and asked if he could go to the bathroom.

“But we just got back from the bathroom,” she answered.

“I know, teacher,” he said. “But that time I had to stand up, and this time I have to sit down.”

Oh, kids are so clever.

I also remember a day when the grandchildren were playing in our backyard with water guns I had bought them.

“Die! Die!” Taylor said to one of the younger kids as he pretended to shoot him.

“Taylor, please don’t tell Dustin you want him to ‘die.’ Don’t let me hear you telling anyone to ‘die’ again,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Gampy. I won’t.”

At that moment, Taylor turned to Dustin, pretended to shoot him and said, “Pass away! Pass away!”

You know, some folks think that miracles are a thing of the past. But to me, the real miracles happen every day: when you hear the innocent words of a child, when you see the joy on their faces, or when their words bring a smile to your troubled world.

They are, indeed, the cure for many of our worries.