You ran right over me. You didn’t even give me time to figure out what was going on. I didn’t get enough time to feel sorry for myself. When you were born all I could think about were all the problems you would have in life. You would be a burden to those around you. I pictured you as someone who would always have needs. How could you in my wildest dreams be the giver? That’s when you started running all over me.
I watched you grow from a little baby who slept most of the time (you were supposed to according to the books I read). You weren’t very different from other small babies. Not too much was expected from you, and you didn’t do too much. And I treated you like I did all of the other grandchildren — until babies get to the stage they can do something; they are just a little bundle of flesh to me. You were nice to hold and certainly didn’t give me any trouble.
Then came the time that you were supposed to start developing as most children do. That’s when you showed me it might take a little longer for you. You struggled and I cried, but you kept at it. I had always thought if I were faced with dealing with a handicapped child I would have difficulty doing it on a physical basis. After all, I know my weaknesses and my limitations. I don’t do too well at certain things. You pushed those weaknesses and limitations out of your way and proceeded into the swing of building the relationship which YOU wanted.
The first inkling I had that you expected me to be your grandfather, and act like one, was the day you pulled on my trouser leg and let me know that you wanted to be picked up. No fussing, no crying — just a good firm pull and the look in your eyes.
Your next big lesson for me was letting me know there are times you would like to go home with me. I was good at slipping out the door with your sister and taking her home with me to play. Somehow, I never considered that you might like to go. But again, you set me straight. At first you crawled over and cut me off at the door. Later you learned that grabbing me when I was ready to leave worked better. And remember, you did all of this without saying a word to me. So far you haven’t said one word to me — but oh, how we communicate. A hug here, a smile there, and we are able to say it all. You are even forcing me to learn sign language so that we will have more to talk about.
I guess the day you convinced me you were going to be a part of this family with all its rights and privileges was the day you very impatiently let your mother know that sometimes you want your way. You had learned the sign for “more” and pounded your little hands together in a manner which said, “more and I mean right now”. My, how those little hands talked.
You taught me much, Josh. At first I thought you were teaching me how to love someone who has special problems. Now I realize you were just teaching me how to love. I admit you are the easiest person in the world to get along with, but I am leaning to love. You have given self-confidence new meaning. I watch you struggle with each new task of life, and then clap your hands for yourself when you have mastered it. The day your applause is for me, I know I will feel the same exhilaration.
For two years you have been turning my world upside down. You have made me change, and all for the better. I don’t think I was ready, but you never let that slow you down. Now I have to look ahead. What about the next two years or the next twenty years? It is now my turn young man. I am going to be the one bugging you. I’m the one who wants you to come to my house and I have high hopes that I’ll be the one to take you fishing for the first time. I’m the guy with the needs now. When I need to be around someone who won’t complain about his troubles and accept me just the way I am with no questions asked, I will be turning to you.
I have to confess to you Josh, when I found out you had Down Syndrome, I too was down. But after knowing you for two glorious years I have UP SYNDROME. And watching the other people in your life, you have infected more than just me. You rascal you.
James L. Miller
Circa 1984
