<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A friend gave me a subscription to Parents Magazine before
\nour daughter Penny was born. I remember the headline of an article that arrived
\nwhen she was six weeks old: “Will Your Child Be Tall? Athletic? Intelligent?” I
\nanswered, “No. No. And no.” I threw the magazine away.<\/p>\n
Some good came of my mistaken belief that a baby with Down
\nsyndrome had severely limited potential. It forced me to consider what it meant
\nto love our child exactly as she had been given to us, rather than according to
\nan abstract image of the child I deserved. It forced me to reconsider my
\nnotions of fullness in life, to discover the value of every human being
\nregardless of IQ, height, weight, or motor ability.<\/p>\n
And yet, I look back on my attitude with some mixture of These individuals have contributed to a transformed <\/span>On the positive side, Chris Burke, Karen Gaffney, Temple And yet, their stories offer a caution as well. Holding up Around the same time I started reading stories about I’m glad that Penny is growing up in a world where there are <\/p>\n This essay originally appeared in Bloom Magazine. <\/p>\n A friend gave me a subscription to Parents Magazine before our daughter Penny was born. I remember the headline of an article that arrived when she was six weeks old: “Will Your Child Be Tall? Athletic? Intelligent?” I answered, “No. No. And no.” I threw the magazine away. Some good came of my mistaken…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":88,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,1,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-316","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-disability","category-down-syndrome","category-family"],"yoast_head":"\n
\nbemusement and dismay. A few months after Penny was born, I started to hear
\nstories about individuals with Down Syndrome who had surpassed expectations. I
\nheard about Chris Burke<\/a>, who played a leading role on the TV series, Life Goes
\nOn. I read about Karen Gaffney<\/a>, who swam Lake Tahoe, a feat, in the words of
\none admirer, the equivalent to running three marathons. Later still, reading an
\narticle in TIME, I learned about Temple Grandin<\/a>, a woman with autism who has
\nearned her Ph.D. and is lauded as an expert in understanding animal behavior.
\nMost recently, Aimee Mullins<\/a>, a woman whose legs were amputated as a child, has
\ncome to my attention. Mullins is a model, an athlete, and a spokesperson for
\nthe rights of individuals with disabilities.<\/p>\n
\nunderstanding of what it means to be “disabled.” They have challenged me, yet
\nagain, to reconsider my expectations for our daughter. I now say, Who knows what she might do? <\/i>instead of
\nassuming that I know her limitations already. But sometimes I wonder. Are these
\nmen and women exemplary? Or are they exceptional? Are they the Oprah Winfreys
\nand Bill Gates and Michael Jordans of their field? Is it silly to think of my
\ndaughter becoming like one of them? Is it harmful? <\/span><\/p>\n
\nGrandin, and Aimee Mullins offer us the face of possibility. Their stories of
\nhope, hard work, and achievement against the odds, against the doctor’s
\npredictions, against societal expectations–their stories have a chance of
\nbecoming our children’s stories. Their stories teach us to believe in our kids.
\nTheir stories teach me not to be so quickly dismissive of questions like those
\nposed on the cover of Parents Magazine.<\/p>\n
\nonly exceptional individuals as possibilities plays into a cultural narrative
\nthat values achievement over character and individual accomplishment over
\nrelationships. What if our kids don’t measure up? What if Penny never wins a
\nmedal at the Paralympics? What if she never speaks in front of a crowd? What if
\nshe never breaks any records or surpasses the predictions for a child with Down
\nsyndrome? If she never does any of those things, she will remain who she is:
\nour daughter, a great gift to us and all who know her.<\/p>\n
\nexceptional people with disabilities, I also met a man with Down syndrome named
\nJohn. John is in his late thirties. He lives alone. He goes to work a few days
\na week with the help of an aid. He spends much of his free time at the local
\nfire station. He doesn’t talk much, and, as far as I know, he hasn’t
\naccomplished anything extraordinary. But when we got together, he sat with
\nPenny, who was about a year old, and made her giggle. He told me about the
\nthings he loved: music, his friends at the fire station, his parents. He told
\nme about his girlfriend, and showed me pictures of himself as a child. He was
\nkind, courteous, and humble. And, having now met a number of adults with Down
\nsyndrome, I would not say that John was exceptional. But after spending an hour
\nin his house, I had the sense that he, an ordinary man with Down syndrome, had
\nachieved many of the things I would want for our daughter.<\/p>\n
\nmen and women with disabilities who have achieved extraordinary things. And I’m
\nglad they get lauded for their accomplishments. But I’m even more glad that we
\nknow people like John. Our daughter may or may not grow up to write books or
\nrun marathons or go to college. I think I’ve learned to let go of those types
\nof expectations and wait to see who she becomes. She may or may not grow up to
\nbe exceptional, but I hope she will grow up to be an example of the potential in
\nevery human being to live a humble, loving, and gracious life. To paraphrase
\nMartin Luther King, I hope she will grow up and be measured, not by the list of
\nher accomplishments, but by the content of her character.<\/p>\n
\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"