Those frustrating scenes have played regularly in the Mikells' Racine home.

"He understands us, but we don't understand him," said David's mom, Catherine.

He's not hearing-impaired or mute. Lots of things come out of David's mouth. Many never crystallize into coherent words.

Some rare condition is holding back his words. Doctors saw such uniqueness in David's case that they presented it at a conference in Chicago. It also causes him to drool, sometimes without knowing it.

The best medical guess so far is that he could be having something akin to miniature seizures in his brain.

In the meantime, the Mikells have to function as a family - Catherine; her husband, Lee; their other son, 12-year-old Ben; and David. When they can't communicate, the parental instincts they developed while raising their older son aren't much use.

"This is like being a parent all over with your first child," Lee Mikell said.

Up until now, little David has been as resourceful as possible. He constructs his own language when necessary.

When he and Ben clash - brothers are contractually obligated to fight - David can't tattle the usual way. He has to grab a toy and bop himself with it in front of mom and dad.

For a language to work, though, both sides need the same decoder ring. So the Mikell clan is taking classes in a more standard dialect: sign language.

For the last several weeks the four of them, along with David's preschool teachers, have been learning how to let their hands do the talking. The classes are presented through the Catholic Association of Racine and held at St. Paul the Apostle Parish.

The Mikells aren't Catholic. This just happened to be the best thing they could find.

For most of the two-hour class I attended last week, David was more interested in coloring, bouncing between his dad's and his teacher's laps and punching my shoulder.

Instructor Margaret Calteaux went through a unit on requests, or how to ask for things. David tuned out when she explained how to read signs in context, like whether someone means "pool" as in swimming or betting. (Not sure if it was coincidence that the one for "You owe me" came soon after).

When she taught a sign that interested him, he'd poke his head around. He aced every informal quiz his family gave him.

David even nailed the one for coffee, a sign all energy-deprived parents of 5-year-olds should probably know.

"I didn't think he was paying attention," Catherine Mikell said. "He's looking all over the room while she's talking."

There'll still be bumps. Knowing the sign for pizza didn't help David in that one instance.

But, in comparing him to the first class, Calteaux notices her preschool pupil is smiling more these days. Getting his point across helps.

"He's getting half the frustration out," Calteaux said. "Later on, that will relax him and later on he'll get the speech."

She should know. With near-complete hearing loss herself, Calteaux honed her ability to speak once she calmed down.

For now, the Mikells can meet David halfway. They're pumped to move on to the next series of classes, although Catherine joked she might be held back.

All they want is to know when David's sick, or when he's hungry or thirsty.

Armed with the signs for soda and popcorn, he's happy to satisfy them.

By Mike Moore
http://www.journaltimes.com/articles/2006/03/02/local/columns/iq_3928886.txt