My son was not even three years old when the diagnosis: PDD was firmly established in his medical records. We did not speak, did not understand well, did not cry when our favorite toys were taken away from us at the playground, and were not offended when our peers did not understand why we refused to get acquainted. We just didn't know how.
Daniel Keyes was an American author best known for his Hugo award-winning short story and Nebula award-winning novel Flowers for Algernon. Keyes was given the Author Emeritus honor by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America in 2000.
"Bart said to Chärli what do you see on this sheet. I saw the spilled teardrops and I was really scared, even though I had my paw in my pocket because when I was little I was always a bad student and I spilled teardrops. I told Bart I could see the piss pots spilled on a white piece of paper. Bart said yes and smiled and I felt good. I don't remember very well what Bart said, but I remember that he wanted me to tell him what was in the pellets. I didn't see anything, but Bart said there were pictures. I didn't see any pictures. I tried really hard. I held the sheet close and then far away. Then I said if I put on my glasses I might be able to see better I wear glasses in the movies and when I watch TV but I said maybe they would let me see pictures in the glasses. I put them on and said let me see them and I bet I can find them now. I tried really hard, but I couldn't find the pictures, I only saw the chirnel.
I fell in love with Charlie from the first lines. A kind, naive, wonderful man, the kind that doesn't exist nowadays. Only he was Charlie and my son.
We stopped doing head examinations, going to doctors, because they all said the same thing: there were no physiological abnormalities, and what was going on in the child's brain was unknown to medical science. We were referred to a medical-psychological expertise and were given a ticket to a remedial kindergarten.
"At night I dreamed about my mother arguing with my dad and the teacher at school #13, where I studied, until I was transferred to #222...
- ...He's normal! He's normal! He'll grow up to be like everybody else! Better than everybody else! - She tries to get in the teacher's face, but Daddy holds her tight. - He will go to college! He's going to be famous! - She yells it out over and over again, wrenching herself out of Daddy's arms. - He's going to go to college!
We're in the principal's office and it's full of people besides us. Everyone looks embarrassed, and only the vice principal smiles slightly and looks away so no one notices. In my dream, the principal has a long beard and is floating around the room and pointing his finger at me:
- He needs to be transferred to a special school. A public special school in Warren is what you need! He can't stay here!
Dad pushes Mom out of the office, but she keeps screaming and crying.
I can't see her face, but huge red tears drip and drip on me..."
I didn't put up with it. We started actively working with a speech therapist, going to developmental classes, reading a lot, changing the environment: we traveled a lot, went to the theater and the zoo.
"I'm not going to take him out of school! There's nothing wrong with him!
- Rose, stop deluding yourself like he's a normal kid. Look at him. Rose! He's six years old now, and...
- He's not an idiot! He's like all children!
Dad looks sadly at his son playing with his string. Charlie smiles and stretches out his arm so Dad can see how great it is spinning.
- Throw that filth away! - Mom yells and punches Charlie out of his hand. The thread falls to the floor. - Go play with the cubes!
Charlie is frightened by this sudden outburst of anger. He doesn't know what will happen next. A shiver begins to hit him. His parents keep arguing, and the voices flying from one to the other tightly encompass him, squeezing his insides. Panic.
- Charlie, march to the bathroom! Don't you dare shit your pants!
Of course he would have obeyed her, only his legs wouldn't move for some reason. His hands go up, shielding his head from the blow.
- For God's sake, Rosa! Leave him alone! Look how you scared him.
It's always you, and the poor child...
- Why don't you help me? Why do I have to do everything myself? I work with us every day so he doesn't fall behind. He's just slow, that's all!
- Don't kid yourself, Rosa, it's not fair. You're training him like an animal. Don't molest him.
- I want him to be like everybody else!"
God, God! How I understood Rosa Charlie. I was a bad mother... I hated myself for it. I started hating Charlie when he started getting "smart." With each page this feeling, fueled by the increasing speed of reading, grew in me. "I think," "I think," and finally the scabrous, "I know. I, I, I, I, I, I, I.
How many "I's" there are in this text, too.
I remember well that cloudy morning. My son stood at the window and looked thoughtfully down at the cars driving through the puddles.
- Mommy, I get the impression that it's going to be a rainy day today... We should put on our wellies.
- Mommy, why are you crying? Don't you like the rain?
"Why does everyone keep telling me I'm becoming human? I was human EVERYWHERE, even before the surgeon's knife touched me. I AM A MAN... I must love."
He's such a beautiful little guy - my son. He is a MAN. He knows how to love, unlike me. I used to know how to love, too. When I was a little girl. We are all crippled by our parents. But I am learning again. He is teaching me. Because we are born geniuses and we die mediocre.
This article was sponsored by James Eddins
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