Tuesday, September 4, 2012

On Finding Sparkle in Weakness


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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