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.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
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!
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