In Kindergarten I received the
“Mother Goose” award at the end of the year. It was an award they probably
created for me. I was always looking out for other kids. I made sure they
zipped up their coats, and comforted them when they cried; I even tried to end
whatever fights broke out between my classmates. This is a facet of my
personality for which I have been teased. They say I care too much or that I’m
nosy, and for a long time I agreed that it was a weakness.
Years later, in high school I spent
one period every year doing my homework in a resource room. I was there while
most students were in gym, swimming and other classes from which I was exempt
due to my disability. Because of my
limited mobility, I couldn’t “play safely” with the others. The majority of the other kids in the resource
room were there because of learning disabilities and cognitive impairments. I have always believed they have it harder
than me, like it was easier for me to defend myself against bullies. My
handicap was visible and all onlookers knew when I was being picked on. Other teenagers underestimated these kids so
much that they assumed they didn’t know when they were being ridiculed, but
they knew. They knew as quickly as you or I would.
A lot of people might have hated
being in class with people labeled as intellectually beneath them, I loved
them. They were always smiling and never said a negative word about
anybody. All of us could learn a great
deal from the way they view the world. The hour I spent with these students was the
most fun I had all day. Because of these experiences I know that I want spend
my career helping cognitively impaired individuals and their families. For this I am incredibly grateful. I’m not going to talk about the severely
disabled students in my class. I’ll just discuss two boys who learned
differently than others and had very little patience for school. We’ve all sat
next them in class: the students who don’t take the time to spell properly, and
never fully complete their homework but can tell you everything there is to
know about basketball or hunting. Cody and T.J. would waste the entire study
hall blabbing about whatever sport was in season and then complain about their
grades when teachers warned them that they might fail.
Their academic achievement did not
reflect their intellectual capabilities, but I wouldn’t call them lazy. They
worked hard when they weren’t stuck at a desk; school wasn’t organized with
them in mind, and they didn’t seem to have families who were very concerned
about it, either. Once, our teacher
walked out of the room crying because Cody’s mom was so unwilling to help him succeed
in school. His very cynical mother thought
because academia was not his forte, it was not worth his time. I had never been exposed to this way of
thinking before, and it made me incredibly sad for Cody. It became apparent
that it wasn’t just the other teenagers who underestimated him. I cried. About a week later my teacher told me in a
moment of frustration that most days TJ parents didn’t care if woke up early
enough to start the day. After that I started to try to assist TJ and Cody in
any way I could. I lost sleep thinking of nice words for them. They grew very
fond of me and we became friends. “The boys”, as our teacher called them,
confided in me and listened to my advice. We laughed together, and they trusted
me to know about their after school partying and their flawed home-lives. I
listened to them complain about girls, helped them understand Romeo and Juliet and convinced them not to clobber other
boys who irritated them.
I didn’t realize how much I affected them
until I saw them smoking one day after school. When I approached them, they immediately hid
their cigarettes behind their backs. We
had an awkward conversation and as I walked away, I saw TJ toss his pack of
Marlboros into the trash. The next day,
I told TJ that I wouldn’t have said anything about his smoking. He told me he
knew that; he said he felt guilty because he knew I would be concerned about
his health. I don’t know that TJ quit forever, but I do know he tried to change
his life because he knew he mattered to me.
This was a triumphant occurrence in
my life. It was the moment when I realized that caring is not a weakness, that
my nosiness can change lives. That day,
I learned that my mother-goose ways and I could make a difference. I may not be
the best student, or the prettiest girl, I may not even be the most attentive
friend, or the easiest daughter to raise. I am however, capable of seeing potential
in those who have been written off, by their loved ones and by themselves.
Since then, I have been many different
therapists who have tried to teach me (among other more significant and
personal lessons) to let go of other people’s issues. I finally found one who
says that I will never do so. I am always going to be a mother-goose. I have to
learn to do it in a healthy manner—and make a life out of it.
I hope that anybody reading this that
has been told that have a weakness, finds the sparkle in it; and experiences
the joy that I have.
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