tonight, i spoke to a group of pretty important people at Access Schools in Little Rock.  

if you've followed Max's journey, you'll know that Access is where he first received outpatient therapy and later attended preschool for three years.  

i was asked to talk about what Access meant to me.  to us, to his family.  

my Daddy wanted me to share the speech.  

mostly because he's my Daddy.  

but i thought i would put it here too...because Access changed our lives.  

and if i need to keep hollering about the magic that exists inside those doors, i will.  

so here goes.  

My name is Hannah Fulks. 

My husband and I are parents of 3 boys. 

Our oldest is 9, youngest is 2. 

And our middle son, Max, is 6.

And Max is the reason I’m sitting with you tonight. 

At 18 months of age, Max and I showed up for well child appointment with 2 words in our pocket.  Out and Dog.  That was it.  That was all he could say.  His expressive vocabulary consisted of 2 words.  The “average” for that age is 50.  We were down 48 words. 

His receptive vocabulary…what he could understand…well, that was limitless.  He could do simple chores: put your shoes on.  Throw this away.  Give Daddy a hug. 

But if he had to say it, it wasn’t happening.  You got a smile instead.  No sounds. 

We were referred to a local place of therapy in Benton where we were given a diagnosis including low muscle tone (the way he moved) and a speech delay. 

He received 2 days a week of speech and 3 of physical therapy.

After about 4 months of speech, our SLP came to us and explained she had seen virtually no improvement…and she felt this was because he had been diagnosed incorrectly.  She felt as if Max had something called “Childhood Apraxia of Speech”. 

I’ll remember her words forever. 

Have you ever heard of Access? 

It’s in Little Rock.  

They have people there that can help.   

I made the call to Beth Rice the next day. 

In a week or two, we were here.  

In that gym over there.  

Having an initial evaluation. 

We were told, the eval might take an hour or two…but 30 minutes in, the therapist came out and got us.  She invited us into the therapy room and confirmed what Jessica had already told us.  

Max had Global CAS.  She felt he needed 4 to 5 hours a week of speech…and possibly feeding therapy.  

Max began therapy immediately. 

I drove from Benton every day.  

I sat in that waiting area for an hour while he had therapy.  

Then I would drive him home. 

Max started preschool here when he was 3.  

He was in Miss Janelle’s class…and because we all felt he wasn’t ready for the 4 year old/pre-K class…he repeated Janelle’s class the following year. 

after 2 years with Janelle, he went on to the pre-K class.

And in August of 2017, our son, who had 2 words when he was 2….began public Kindergarten at Ringgold Elementary in Benton. 

Max is sounding out sight words.

Reading books in class...to us at home.

Being the typical kindergartener we always knew he could be. 

The night he was officially diagnosed here, I cried as I fell asleep. 

We finally knew. 

We finally had an answer for what was so different with our son. 

We knew in our hearts it was something…but didn’t ever really have a plan. 

And without a plan, we felt so lost. 

So alone in the wilderness that is parenting.

The best thing I ever did, was put Max’s needs before my worries, my fears, my uncertainty. 

As a parent, we want our children to be normal…typical. 

We want them to whisper secrets to their friends. 

We want them to say their nightly prayers. 

Argue with their siblings. 

We want to hear them say, “ I love you mom.”

And so when you’re told they have a communication disorder….that they have a disability when it comes to speech, your whole world is rocked. 

And so finding a place, finding a way where you can be “big for your little” is imperative. 

So all that brings me back here. 

To this place. 

This place called Access. 

What makes it different than the many other places in central Arkansas? 

I’ll tell you.

Every single person knew Max.

From Bailey at the front desk to Tammy who runs this entire joint, Monika…Every therapist, every teacher…and so many of the students, they all knew Max Fulks. 

He was never a number.
He was never just another kid…another diagnosis. 

Mr. Rogers is one of my favorites.  He has a quote about how there are people in our lives who love us into being.  I believe for Max, those people were the ones here at Access.  

Sometimes children are born and the minute they turn 2, they have personalities.  Strong ones.  They have opinions, 200 words in their vocabulary.  

But sometimes our children are born and around 2 their disabilities, unfortunately, define them.  That was the case with Max.  At 2, he was regressing.  By the time we arrived here, Max was shy and easily intimidated.  

But the minute he walked through these doors, he was bombarded with love from so many people.  Laura, Kelly, his teachers, his therapists...so many who loved him into the person he is today.  And that is a confident, brave kid.  A kid, front and center, of our Christmas program at church.  That kid didn't exist 4 years ago.  And so i credit Access into loving our child into being.  

So the job you have is maybe the most difficult of all. 

Because you are tasked with keeping this place afloat. 

This place where my max…where countless children find not only his voice, but his confidence, acceptance, love, patience and understanding. 

And…we, as his family, we found a home. 

And like all good homes, we know that should we ever need to return, the door is always open. 

Thank you for what you're doing here tonight and in the years to come.  Should you ever doubt the importance of this job, i encourage you to simply show up and walk these hallways.  Because in them, you are bound to find children becoming the people God intended them to be.