There was an old tumor who lived in my foot,
no matter what was done, he managed to stay put.
He lived there content in his small little house,
and soon enough, he invited in Eileen, his spouse.
His name was Jimmy Bob Irishman, from a hick town you see,
In his trailer apartment near Akron, or maybe another lovely city.
Soon they had a baby named Jonah who lived with the family,
all cozy and comfy and so happily.
Then one day they got zapped out with a probe,
dissolving the Irishman's and their car load.
And don't forget old Grandma Franny,
who landed with a big thud on her fanny.
With the Irishman's gone I got set on track,
until the day came that Jimmy Bob came back!
A couple of months ago, doctors discovered a benign tumor in my ankle that secreted pain chemicals into my blood stream. Baruch Hashem, it's nothing deathly, but extremely painful. I had the tumor surgically removed and lived pain-free for about five weeks. Recently, the pain has come back, and this time the doctors are not really sure what's wrong. One day, when I was down in the dumps, my friends wrote this poem for me. They're so wacky, but it sure gave me a good laugh! They say it's kind of like the poem "there was an old woman who lived in a shoe." Enjoy!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Watch your language!
This post is dedicated to my sisters "Mindy" and "Sarah." Together, they taught me to have better understandings of language, and how to use it properly.
Do you know how many words there are in the dictionary? Because I don't. I mean, come on - what seventeen year old girl, or anyone for that matter, sits there and reads Webster's?!
Sometimes it's not about quantity, it's really about the quality.
Each word that comes out of our mouths has the potential to be so powerful and full of essence. Unfortunately, in today's society, the English language has become such a twist. People say things that they had no intention of saying. For example, (on a smaller note) you're sitting in class, staring at the clock anxiously waiting for class to be over. Then suddenly.... ACHOOOO!
As you quickly cover your nose you kindly ask your friend if you could borrow a tissue. And indeed, she gives you the tissue, you do your business, and you throw it out. Now, do you realize that you just asked if you could borrow a tissue. EWW! The last time I checked, the conditions of borrowing something only goes if you agree to give it back. Therefor, I will not, under and circumstances, lend you a TISSUE!
The point of my blog is not to teach you what not to do if your nose begins to run. The purpose of this was, well... you'll see.
Another commonly misused word is retarded. Boy do I hate that word, and I hate it even more when people think they're using it correctly - but they're not! According to Webster's Third New International Dictionary (yes, call me a nerd - I really did look it up) the word retarded means slow of limited in intellectual development, in emotionally development, or in academic process, or in other words: handicapped. Well that changes everything! Because so says my class that yesterday's math quiz was retarded. Really???? You could have fooled me! I did not know that my math quiz was handicapped!
The word retarded rolls off people's tongue as if they're saying hello. No, it does not mean crazy, and some take it very personally. I come from a family that has much involvement with children with special needs, so when I hear that word I feel it's as if someone is stabbing me in the back. I know this sounds crazy, but if you don't know what a word really means ask someone, or look it up! Trust me, you'll sound a lot smarter if you do.
Now do you get the point of my blog?!
Do you know how many words there are in the dictionary? Because I don't. I mean, come on - what seventeen year old girl, or anyone for that matter, sits there and reads Webster's?!
Sometimes it's not about quantity, it's really about the quality.
Each word that comes out of our mouths has the potential to be so powerful and full of essence. Unfortunately, in today's society, the English language has become such a twist. People say things that they had no intention of saying. For example, (on a smaller note) you're sitting in class, staring at the clock anxiously waiting for class to be over. Then suddenly.... ACHOOOO!
As you quickly cover your nose you kindly ask your friend if you could borrow a tissue. And indeed, she gives you the tissue, you do your business, and you throw it out. Now, do you realize that you just asked if you could borrow a tissue. EWW! The last time I checked, the conditions of borrowing something only goes if you agree to give it back. Therefor, I will not, under and circumstances, lend you a TISSUE!
The point of my blog is not to teach you what not to do if your nose begins to run. The purpose of this was, well... you'll see.
Another commonly misused word is retarded. Boy do I hate that word, and I hate it even more when people think they're using it correctly - but they're not! According to Webster's Third New International Dictionary (yes, call me a nerd - I really did look it up) the word retarded means slow of limited in intellectual development, in emotionally development, or in academic process, or in other words: handicapped. Well that changes everything! Because so says my class that yesterday's math quiz was retarded. Really???? You could have fooled me! I did not know that my math quiz was handicapped!
The word retarded rolls off people's tongue as if they're saying hello. No, it does not mean crazy, and some take it very personally. I come from a family that has much involvement with children with special needs, so when I hear that word I feel it's as if someone is stabbing me in the back. I know this sounds crazy, but if you don't know what a word really means ask someone, or look it up! Trust me, you'll sound a lot smarter if you do.
Now do you get the point of my blog?!
Monday, December 10, 2007
A Smashing Wake Up Call
Car accidents. Unfortunately, they happen pretty often. Did you ever wonder what goes through a person's mind as s/he is being hit?
Erev Pesach, a couple of years ago, my sister Mindy was rushing home from work, her fear of being late for Yom Tov mounting. Although in a rush, she carefully changed lands and switched on her left turn signal. She inched forward very slowly, preparing to make a left turn. It all happened very fast. A truck was obstructing her view and she took a risk that she shouldn't have taken.
Before Mindy knew it she was hanging upside-down from her seat belt. Her car had flipped over several times. Her windshield was completely shattered and the car resembled an accordion. An old man, driving at sixty-miles per hour had collided head on with Mindy's car.
Mindy was bleeding and bruised, but what was going through her mind? Maybe "Ahh! I was just hit" or "Oh my goodness, am I alive?" No, nothing of the sort was in Mindy's mind. One thought and one thought only crowded her thoughts. "Oh now," she whispered to herself, "my shaitel just flew off."
She was trapped in her car in the middle of a main street. With her eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down her face, Mindy quickly threw her arms over her head to cover her hair as much as she could. How is it possible that a person who was just hit by a car was worried about her head being covered more that anything else?
"Can we help you?" Mindy's eyes fluttered open. Two Jews were standing near her car. Hashem had surely been watching. Before she could blink, Mindy heard the sirens of an ambulance. After she was helped out of her smashed vehicle, and EMT handed her a blanket. Mindy used it to cover her head.
Boruch Hashem, everything turned out fine, and the message is still fresh in all of our minds. This should serve as a major wake up call for everyone. Tznius is so important and sadly enough, not observed nearly enough. I'm amazed and inspired by my sister who even at the worst of times kept thoughts of tznius in her mind. May we all strive to be like this. Of course, we should not have to wait for bad situations, but be extra careful especially when things are good and are going our way. So remember everyone: drive safely and be tznius.
Erev Pesach, a couple of years ago, my sister Mindy was rushing home from work, her fear of being late for Yom Tov mounting. Although in a rush, she carefully changed lands and switched on her left turn signal. She inched forward very slowly, preparing to make a left turn. It all happened very fast. A truck was obstructing her view and she took a risk that she shouldn't have taken.
Before Mindy knew it she was hanging upside-down from her seat belt. Her car had flipped over several times. Her windshield was completely shattered and the car resembled an accordion. An old man, driving at sixty-miles per hour had collided head on with Mindy's car.
Mindy was bleeding and bruised, but what was going through her mind? Maybe "Ahh! I was just hit" or "Oh my goodness, am I alive?" No, nothing of the sort was in Mindy's mind. One thought and one thought only crowded her thoughts. "Oh now," she whispered to herself, "my shaitel just flew off."
She was trapped in her car in the middle of a main street. With her eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down her face, Mindy quickly threw her arms over her head to cover her hair as much as she could. How is it possible that a person who was just hit by a car was worried about her head being covered more that anything else?
"Can we help you?" Mindy's eyes fluttered open. Two Jews were standing near her car. Hashem had surely been watching. Before she could blink, Mindy heard the sirens of an ambulance. After she was helped out of her smashed vehicle, and EMT handed her a blanket. Mindy used it to cover her head.
Boruch Hashem, everything turned out fine, and the message is still fresh in all of our minds. This should serve as a major wake up call for everyone. Tznius is so important and sadly enough, not observed nearly enough. I'm amazed and inspired by my sister who even at the worst of times kept thoughts of tznius in her mind. May we all strive to be like this. Of course, we should not have to wait for bad situations, but be extra careful especially when things are good and are going our way. So remember everyone: drive safely and be tznius.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Journey
Did I know what I was getting myself into? What was I thinking? Going to a camp with severely handicapped children to care for them, be their protector. Parents handing over their child and placing her needs into our hands. Guardians having their complete trust in us and knowing that everything will be okay. Did I know that everything was going to be okay?
Waiting in line for a roller coaster is always nerve racking. Anxiety building up as the minutes pass, and butterflies fluttering around in your abdominal area. Stepping into the ride as safety bars fall over your shoulders. Do you really want to do this? Fasten your seatbelts everyone, the ride’s about to begin.
When I know that I help these kids it makes me feel accomplished. It gives me a rush that I don’t normally feel. When I look deep into their innocent eyes I see their troubles and I want to reach out for them. And although many of them can’t speak, you still know deep down that they are crying and singing thank you.
Higher and higher the roller coaster soars. Checking every so often to see if we are due to reach the peak soon. Such a thrill you get, because it feels like you’re flying, on top of the world, and nothing can stop you.
Working with children with special needs is not an easy job, and many people question why one would even accept the challenge. Kids pulling your hair and screaming in your face is only on an average day. Running away and words of hate are also commonalities. Yet through all these struggles, you still feel like reaching out to them.
As you go faster and faster downhill, you close your eyes in fear. Why did you do this to yourself? Your stomach forms a big knot as the nauseous feeling rises. When is this nightmare going to end? Get me off of this coaster – fast!
When night falls what goes through your mind? Not much, actually. You’re probably just tired and exhausted. As you close your eyes you think to yourself what tomorrow will bring. Will you have a good day or a bad day? What is to be destined?
Okay, so the hill is over, but what about the rest of the ride? What kind of weird twists and turns will you be lead into? To where will it take you?
As the summer comes to an end you have a sigh of relief; a tough summer gone well. The experience and the memories sadden you slightly, even though you know you’ll carry them with you. Yes you’re happy that you don’t have to work so hard any more, but at the same time, it feels like a part of you is missing; like you’re leaving something behind. This journey is now part
of your past.
The ride slowly comes to a halt as you think about the wild experience. Was it good, was it bad? None of that sort – it was amazing! Though it was scary, and frightening, you still got a crazy thrill out of the journey, life’s journey, life’s lesson. Unfasten your seatbelts and please exit the vehicle and we hoped you enjoyed your ride.
Life is like a roller coaster ride.
Waiting in line for a roller coaster is always nerve racking. Anxiety building up as the minutes pass, and butterflies fluttering around in your abdominal area. Stepping into the ride as safety bars fall over your shoulders. Do you really want to do this? Fasten your seatbelts everyone, the ride’s about to begin.
When I know that I help these kids it makes me feel accomplished. It gives me a rush that I don’t normally feel. When I look deep into their innocent eyes I see their troubles and I want to reach out for them. And although many of them can’t speak, you still know deep down that they are crying and singing thank you.
Higher and higher the roller coaster soars. Checking every so often to see if we are due to reach the peak soon. Such a thrill you get, because it feels like you’re flying, on top of the world, and nothing can stop you.
Working with children with special needs is not an easy job, and many people question why one would even accept the challenge. Kids pulling your hair and screaming in your face is only on an average day. Running away and words of hate are also commonalities. Yet through all these struggles, you still feel like reaching out to them.
As you go faster and faster downhill, you close your eyes in fear. Why did you do this to yourself? Your stomach forms a big knot as the nauseous feeling rises. When is this nightmare going to end? Get me off of this coaster – fast!
When night falls what goes through your mind? Not much, actually. You’re probably just tired and exhausted. As you close your eyes you think to yourself what tomorrow will bring. Will you have a good day or a bad day? What is to be destined?
Okay, so the hill is over, but what about the rest of the ride? What kind of weird twists and turns will you be lead into? To where will it take you?
As the summer comes to an end you have a sigh of relief; a tough summer gone well. The experience and the memories sadden you slightly, even though you know you’ll carry them with you. Yes you’re happy that you don’t have to work so hard any more, but at the same time, it feels like a part of you is missing; like you’re leaving something behind. This journey is now part
of your past.
The ride slowly comes to a halt as you think about the wild experience. Was it good, was it bad? None of that sort – it was amazing! Though it was scary, and frightening, you still got a crazy thrill out of the journey, life’s journey, life’s lesson. Unfasten your seatbelts and please exit the vehicle and we hoped you enjoyed your ride.
Life is like a roller coaster ride.
The Bridge
Slightly chilly, yet warm; scary, yet comforting; confusing, yet clear. The place I am describing has little or no significance to most people. Nevertheless, I hold for it a special place in my heart.
A bridge. A simple ramp-like bridge, made of wood and cement, located in a place that I can call “a home away from home.” Through the eyes of an average person, it may look ugly and dirty. Through my eyes, I see a place in which I can express my thoughts, and dream. I see a place in which I can be calm and peaceful. I see a place that I used to hate.
What could be so scary about a bridge? Walking across it, feeling the humid breeze pass by, and feeling it creaking slightly under your feet. The trees around brush your face lightly, and the tall grass gently sweeps your ankles. What seems simple enough to cross was torture for me.
Fainting by the edge… hitting my head… waking up from compressions… choking on water… smothered in a gas mask… lifted onto a stretcher… hearing the sirens of an ambulance… stabbed with an I.V needle…
Weeks passed by, and I always managed to find an alternative route, rather than walking on the bridge. Trampling through mud and dirt, getting bitten up by mosquitoes, and feeling the strong, sticky heat rush into my head always seemed like a better option than crossing the bridge.
One day, realizing that enough was enough, I decided to cross it. Step, by step and inch by inch, I made my way across. Sweat was dripping down my face and tears were streaming down my cheeks. My legs were shaking violently and my friends were cheering me on. And you know what? I did it.
As time went on, the bridge became my comfort zone. I shared many conversations there, I shared laughter and tears there, and I said goodbye to my camp there. It was the place where I would contemplate, looking at the beautiful trees, admiring the tall grass, and staring into my bunkhouse through the window. I now realize how lucky I am that I found my place. And it was all because I crossed the bridge.
A bridge. A simple ramp-like bridge, made of wood and cement, located in a place that I can call “a home away from home.” Through the eyes of an average person, it may look ugly and dirty. Through my eyes, I see a place in which I can express my thoughts, and dream. I see a place in which I can be calm and peaceful. I see a place that I used to hate.
What could be so scary about a bridge? Walking across it, feeling the humid breeze pass by, and feeling it creaking slightly under your feet. The trees around brush your face lightly, and the tall grass gently sweeps your ankles. What seems simple enough to cross was torture for me.
Fainting by the edge… hitting my head… waking up from compressions… choking on water… smothered in a gas mask… lifted onto a stretcher… hearing the sirens of an ambulance… stabbed with an I.V needle…
Weeks passed by, and I always managed to find an alternative route, rather than walking on the bridge. Trampling through mud and dirt, getting bitten up by mosquitoes, and feeling the strong, sticky heat rush into my head always seemed like a better option than crossing the bridge.
One day, realizing that enough was enough, I decided to cross it. Step, by step and inch by inch, I made my way across. Sweat was dripping down my face and tears were streaming down my cheeks. My legs were shaking violently and my friends were cheering me on. And you know what? I did it.
As time went on, the bridge became my comfort zone. I shared many conversations there, I shared laughter and tears there, and I said goodbye to my camp there. It was the place where I would contemplate, looking at the beautiful trees, admiring the tall grass, and staring into my bunkhouse through the window. I now realize how lucky I am that I found my place. And it was all because I crossed the bridge.
I'm Back!
Sorry everyone! For those of you who have been reading my posts, I thank you. I have been so busy lately, I just have no time for blogging anymore! When you're a Senior you just have no time for anything! Starting now I'm really going to try to write more often. Thanks again everyone for reading my blogs!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Elementary Years
From the age of seven, until the age of twelve I considered myself to be a social outcast. I was paranoid and thought everyone was out to get me. I had no friends and didn't talk a lot. I hated school so much and I would come to class very depressed. Many conversations were shared with my parents and my teacher, because she thought there was something wrong with me. I wasn't the top student in my class. In fact, in most classes I did poorly in.
When I was in sixth grade everything changed. It may seem like a complicated story, but it's something I will definatley never forget...
What is a best friend? Today, most people define it as someone who understands you, someone who accepts you, and someone who believes in you. When you're young, a best friend is not very hard to find. It's someone who shares her crayons with you, someone who gives her snack to you at recess, and someone who's willing to play Barbie with you.
There was a known "couple" in my class. They were the best of friends and let EVERYONE know it. Tammy and Rachel - never separated and never apart. One day, I see Rachel crying with her head buried in her desk. I look around the room in search for Tammy, for she was the only one who could really calm her down. I turn my head in astonishment to see Tammy outside the classroom laughing and talking to another girl. I'm not exactly sure how the fight broke out, or whose fault it even was, but Tammy and Rachel were no longer friends.
I felt very bad for the both of them, but especially Rachel (I guess it was because she was the one crying). As i was soothing Rachel and idea popped into my head. Probably one of the worst ideas in my life. I decied to lend Rachel my "ultra-cool" gel pens. These pen were very stylish to have and I NEVER let anyone, but myself, use them. I handed them to Rachel with a shaking hand. She looked up and smiled at me weakly. These pens were a ticket to a new friendship.
I came home thrilled that day and I was eager to tell my mother about my new friend. She wasn't as happy as I thought she would be.
"Ellie, sweety," she said to me. "I don't think this friendship is such a good idea. I'm just afraid you're going to get hurt."
I didn't understand what she meant, but I was hurt that my own mother couldn't even trust my best friend. I ignored her warning and continues my friendship with Rachel. Even though I knew deep down that Rachel wasn't trustworthy, I still told her all my secrets. Later I found our that it was, again, not one of my best ideas. She blabbed everything I told her, and she got angry with me over the stupidest reasons, yet I still remained her loyal friend.
Things really began to heat up when our class found out that Rachel was in the hospital. Everyone thought it was no big deal, They thought may be she was dehydrated and had a fever so she needed some I.V. No, I knew the real reason: Rachel had overdosed. I don't think she actually had any intention to kill herself. I also knew she was on medication to control her moods. I just out two and two together: Rachel was having a really off day, she saw the pills, and ended up in the hospital.
From there, everything went downhill. Rachel started ignoring me out of school and I would hear her say mean comments behind my back about me. But, when I would confront her in school, she would act if nothing was wrong. She would just come up with some lame exuse for why she was annoyed with me. Like, she would say: "Oh, you're just to nosy and I can't stand nosy people!" Which was a very odd thing to say because I was anything BUT nosy - I was the quietist girl in school! Or she would say: "It just gets me so annoyed how you're not a good speller!" Okay, I admit, even today I'm not the world greatest speller, but is that someting to get angry at me about?!
And you know what? I had another dumb idea, it was even dumber than the gel pen idea: I checked my e-mail.
I know checking e-mail doesn't sound so bad, but trust me - it was. Rachel had sent me something. Ooh! Today Rachel wants to be friends with me! Boy was I wrong. As I read the letter tears streamed down my face. Rachel took every word of hate and put it down on paper. She wrote down down all my faults and any possible thing that she could find wrong with me. It was the nastiest letter I have ever seen. Even today, six years later, I'm not exactly sure if I can completely forgive. I realize now that she was the one who lost out, she broke a friendhip and lost a friend.
The real question is not if I forgive her, but can I forgive myself for letting myself fall into that trap - I knew that she wasn't a well person.
As I look back on the years I can finally and honestly say I can forgive, but I can never forget.
When I was in sixth grade everything changed. It may seem like a complicated story, but it's something I will definatley never forget...
What is a best friend? Today, most people define it as someone who understands you, someone who accepts you, and someone who believes in you. When you're young, a best friend is not very hard to find. It's someone who shares her crayons with you, someone who gives her snack to you at recess, and someone who's willing to play Barbie with you.
There was a known "couple" in my class. They were the best of friends and let EVERYONE know it. Tammy and Rachel - never separated and never apart. One day, I see Rachel crying with her head buried in her desk. I look around the room in search for Tammy, for she was the only one who could really calm her down. I turn my head in astonishment to see Tammy outside the classroom laughing and talking to another girl. I'm not exactly sure how the fight broke out, or whose fault it even was, but Tammy and Rachel were no longer friends.
I felt very bad for the both of them, but especially Rachel (I guess it was because she was the one crying). As i was soothing Rachel and idea popped into my head. Probably one of the worst ideas in my life. I decied to lend Rachel my "ultra-cool" gel pens. These pen were very stylish to have and I NEVER let anyone, but myself, use them. I handed them to Rachel with a shaking hand. She looked up and smiled at me weakly. These pens were a ticket to a new friendship.
I came home thrilled that day and I was eager to tell my mother about my new friend. She wasn't as happy as I thought she would be.
"Ellie, sweety," she said to me. "I don't think this friendship is such a good idea. I'm just afraid you're going to get hurt."
I didn't understand what she meant, but I was hurt that my own mother couldn't even trust my best friend. I ignored her warning and continues my friendship with Rachel. Even though I knew deep down that Rachel wasn't trustworthy, I still told her all my secrets. Later I found our that it was, again, not one of my best ideas. She blabbed everything I told her, and she got angry with me over the stupidest reasons, yet I still remained her loyal friend.
Things really began to heat up when our class found out that Rachel was in the hospital. Everyone thought it was no big deal, They thought may be she was dehydrated and had a fever so she needed some I.V. No, I knew the real reason: Rachel had overdosed. I don't think she actually had any intention to kill herself. I also knew she was on medication to control her moods. I just out two and two together: Rachel was having a really off day, she saw the pills, and ended up in the hospital.
From there, everything went downhill. Rachel started ignoring me out of school and I would hear her say mean comments behind my back about me. But, when I would confront her in school, she would act if nothing was wrong. She would just come up with some lame exuse for why she was annoyed with me. Like, she would say: "Oh, you're just to nosy and I can't stand nosy people!" Which was a very odd thing to say because I was anything BUT nosy - I was the quietist girl in school! Or she would say: "It just gets me so annoyed how you're not a good speller!" Okay, I admit, even today I'm not the world greatest speller, but is that someting to get angry at me about?!
And you know what? I had another dumb idea, it was even dumber than the gel pen idea: I checked my e-mail.
I know checking e-mail doesn't sound so bad, but trust me - it was. Rachel had sent me something. Ooh! Today Rachel wants to be friends with me! Boy was I wrong. As I read the letter tears streamed down my face. Rachel took every word of hate and put it down on paper. She wrote down down all my faults and any possible thing that she could find wrong with me. It was the nastiest letter I have ever seen. Even today, six years later, I'm not exactly sure if I can completely forgive. I realize now that she was the one who lost out, she broke a friendhip and lost a friend.
The real question is not if I forgive her, but can I forgive myself for letting myself fall into that trap - I knew that she wasn't a well person.
As I look back on the years I can finally and honestly say I can forgive, but I can never forget.
Monday, May 28, 2007
The Beginning
I have always considered myself very fortunate to have been born into my family. My special family. Though being the youngest of seven was never easy, I always managed to somehow pull through. And though my siblings and I have a pretty large age gap, we still remain very close. Most of my siblings are at least ten years older than me, except for one sister who is only a year ahead of me.
One year of age difference seems a lot to the average girl. Your sister can graduate a year earlier than you, can get her licence a year before you can, and is welcome to buying cigarettes a year before you can. Not my sister - we do everything together. We are like twins: never separated, and never apart. My sister and I are very close, and very similar in some ways. Yet, though we have many similarities, she has one thing that I don't have. She has an extra chromosome.
Yup, you guessed it, she has Down Syndrome. We're both in the same grade because she was held back, and sometimes, people confuse me for being the older sibling. Sarah, my sister, is 18 but looks and acts as if she is no more than 10 years old. Because of Sarah, my family had to do things a little differently than the average family. All those family outings that were experienced in the previous years had come to an abrupt halt. I wasn't old enough to understand anything, and why those things happened, so I just thought that all families were like that.
One thing I was able to understand, or rather not understand, was the fact that Sarah couldn't go to school with me. My siblings and I grew up going to a private school, so why couldn't Sarah come too? Sarah had to go to a special school, where there were special teachers, and special classrooms. I just couldn't understand the meaning of special. Was it good or bad? Neither, it was just special. Gosh, I do remember growing up hating that word.
I was very lucky to be blessed with such strong and understanding parents. They fought hard for a long time and finally fulfilled one of their dreams: Sarah could go to school. No, not that special school, but my school! My mother and father created an organization that allows special needs children to go to a school in which they chose, and this organization would hire and pay instructional aids to serve the needs of their child. I remember the rush of the strange feeling that crept inside of me. Sarah's really 'gonna go to school with me?! I was excited and nervous at the same time. I wondered how my classmates would treat her; would they except her with open arms, or will they turn their back on her?
I finally sighed of relief when I saw them welcoming her like she was one of us. Sarah grew very attached to her friends and expected to be treated like she was one of them because she was - right? Sarah thought that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her; she was a completely normal child. She was so used to being enrolled in an inclusion program that when she came face - to - face with another disabled child she was the one that stared and asked questions.
My family has been so blessed to have Sarah part of our family. Sarah has taught me so much - I couldn't ask for anything more. Yes I taught her how to walk, recite the ABC's, and unfortunately - how to pinch! Sarah has taught me something that I can carry throughout my lifetime: how to care, how to be kind, and most importantly, how to love.
Most parents pray to have the epitome of "the perfect child." A child that is caring and sharing. A child that is respectful and not mouthy. When Sarah was born - everything changed. Some people call her handicapped, but we call her perfect!
One year of age difference seems a lot to the average girl. Your sister can graduate a year earlier than you, can get her licence a year before you can, and is welcome to buying cigarettes a year before you can. Not my sister - we do everything together. We are like twins: never separated, and never apart. My sister and I are very close, and very similar in some ways. Yet, though we have many similarities, she has one thing that I don't have. She has an extra chromosome.
Yup, you guessed it, she has Down Syndrome. We're both in the same grade because she was held back, and sometimes, people confuse me for being the older sibling. Sarah, my sister, is 18 but looks and acts as if she is no more than 10 years old. Because of Sarah, my family had to do things a little differently than the average family. All those family outings that were experienced in the previous years had come to an abrupt halt. I wasn't old enough to understand anything, and why those things happened, so I just thought that all families were like that.
One thing I was able to understand, or rather not understand, was the fact that Sarah couldn't go to school with me. My siblings and I grew up going to a private school, so why couldn't Sarah come too? Sarah had to go to a special school, where there were special teachers, and special classrooms. I just couldn't understand the meaning of special. Was it good or bad? Neither, it was just special. Gosh, I do remember growing up hating that word.
I was very lucky to be blessed with such strong and understanding parents. They fought hard for a long time and finally fulfilled one of their dreams: Sarah could go to school. No, not that special school, but my school! My mother and father created an organization that allows special needs children to go to a school in which they chose, and this organization would hire and pay instructional aids to serve the needs of their child. I remember the rush of the strange feeling that crept inside of me. Sarah's really 'gonna go to school with me?! I was excited and nervous at the same time. I wondered how my classmates would treat her; would they except her with open arms, or will they turn their back on her?
I finally sighed of relief when I saw them welcoming her like she was one of us. Sarah grew very attached to her friends and expected to be treated like she was one of them because she was - right? Sarah thought that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her; she was a completely normal child. She was so used to being enrolled in an inclusion program that when she came face - to - face with another disabled child she was the one that stared and asked questions.
My family has been so blessed to have Sarah part of our family. Sarah has taught me so much - I couldn't ask for anything more. Yes I taught her how to walk, recite the ABC's, and unfortunately - how to pinch! Sarah has taught me something that I can carry throughout my lifetime: how to care, how to be kind, and most importantly, how to love.
Most parents pray to have the epitome of "the perfect child." A child that is caring and sharing. A child that is respectful and not mouthy. When Sarah was born - everything changed. Some people call her handicapped, but we call her perfect!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
