Every now and then we run into someone, a complete stranger, in the briefest of moments, that simply stands out, ever so slightly changing how we view certain things in life that ended up occupying a spot in our memory, perhaps permanently. Sometimes even altering our life's perspective in a profound way.
Weeks ago I was at the cashier's checkout for groceries at the local store. While the cashier was scanning the items I noticed the bagboy carefully and very slowly putting them into plastic bags. The cashier often glanced silently at the obviously inexperienced bagboy. Twice, using no words, she motioned to him the proper way to bag an item. A few moments later, as the cashier was processing my payment, I noticed from one corner of my eye, a middle-age lady was at the bagboy's side, helping him along, making sure the two cartoons of eggs were laid flat and by themselves in one bag and the grapes and tomatoes went together by themselves, etc.
The nametag on the bagboy's shirt pocket said "Fred". I told him, "Fred, you did a great job". The lady who was helping him coaxed Fred to say, "Thank you". Fred did and mumbled a few words explaining where the eggs were among the bags now neatly arranged in the shopping cart. The lady looked at me smiling, unabashedly proud of Fred's momentary accomplishment. As I was about to wheel out the cart, the lady took a step or two near me and said almost in a hushed voice, "You know sixteen years ago, a few months before Fred was born, my obstetrician and the hospital administrator sat me down at the doctor's office.
That lady was Fred's mom. The doctor explained to her and her husband that the fetus carried the autism gene.
She added, "The medical assessment was that the child was likely going to be autistic - a very high probability, in fact. It was still early in the pregnancy so I was told that there was some decision to make about "exercising one option" without having to worry about ethical or legal repercussions".
She knew what that meant but it was not the choice they took. She added, "Sixteen years and look at him now". She was still literally beaming with pride and joy only a mother can express. I told her what she did was very noble and she responded that that was one decision she and her husband and family (they have two other children) never had once doubted was the right thing to do nor had any regrets whatsoever. One decision. One life.
Fred is not going to be ever "normal" for the rest of his life; whatever "normal" really means in a world now so socially fractured, so politically discordant, even ethically confusing. Bagging groceries might be right at near the top that a mother can ever hope for Fred. She may aim some slightly higher calling for Fred but it will not be monumentally ambitious nor would it matter much for Fred's ego. And that is where we find that simplicity can triumph over a lot of things. Fred may never be able to discern nor will he ever be capable of comprehending deep human emotions, sympathy or empathy even (in the classical sense). He may never exhibit the finer points of social graces, nor appreciate a well-written novel nor the nuances of poetry nor the beauty of an impressionist painting. He may never fall in love, even develop a crush, or harbor infatuation. He feels physical pain but never the anguish of a romantic heartbreak. He will have frustrations over a chore, but never about composing a letter; clearly never about punctuations and grammar. He expresses happiness but he will always exhibit it not to get past the threshold of the joy of innocence. He will always be free of and unencumbered by the complexities of a complicated life that we - the "normal" folks - routinely have to deal with.
Such is how we look at Fred. However, we cannot think of Fred without the love of a mother. We think of his mother and we look back at sixteen years ago. Could we have made the same decision? Could we have made the same sacrifices? Even today, we know Fred's mom has to drive him to and from the grocery store where he "works". We all know that Fred's mom was not only faced with one life-altering decision, she was prepared even to this day to a life-long commitment and dedication that came with it. The sacrificial burden she will carry for the rest of her life. The thought that Fred will outlive her is one worry that confronts her daily - who will care for Fred when she is gone?
At an alumni luncheon just recently - one of a handful of company annual get-together events for retirees - my wife and I happen to sit at a table with a few retirees we met for the first time. As we go to these functions we seem to see less and less of the people we know. Actually, most of those we see now are the new batch of retirees. We must look ancient to these folks but they sure are glad to see fellow retirees still living and able to go to these functions. We felt that way too when we first came to these events over a decade ago. In fact, I would make it a point to sit with those who seemed to have been retirees for sometime; in other words, those that looked much older than we were. From them we knew that retirement must have been good to these folks and they were always a great source for the secret to growing older "slowly". You know what that means. To put it bluntly, it is the art or science, if there is such a thing, of somehow managing to slow down the ravages of old age. There must be such a thing because there is this gentleman who served in the Korean War before working for the company. I don't think he ever misses these events because he is always present. We've missed several but the odds that he only shows up every time we go is not likely the case. Anyway, he is 94 years old now and he comes in by himself (a widower) and he drives a Lincoln SUV. He now walks with a cane but as late as two years ago he would walk and stand straight like any sixty year old newly retired employee. There are many of these folks we get to talk with in these functions. I thought it was worthwhile to talk about that but there was something else during this one luncheon.
Before getting to a table just before all the attendees had arrived we chanced upon a conversation with a couple who happened to pick up their name tags at the reception table at about the same time we got there. The four of us decided to sit at the same table. Eventually we were joined by three other couples.
The husband, from the first couple we just met, was the retiree and he was originally from England. Inevitably the conversation led to "how did y'all meet?", particularly because he was British and she was from Florida and they met in the Bahamas - but not on a cruise ship or vacation, as I initially tried to deduce in my feeble attempt to be Sherlock Holmes. She had an interesting story, far nobler than I expected. I happened to sit next to her.
She is an only child. While still a young adult her mother was stricken with Parkinson's disease. She decided to be her mom's care giver outside of everything else the hospital or medical staff provided, specially when it was time for her mom to be home. They decided to relocate to the Bahamas, at least temporarily anyway, where they found an alternative medical facility for her mom which was also less financially draining compared to stateside care. It was a sacrifice on her part, being a young woman and all that, but she did. And that is how she met the dashing young man working for an off shore oil company, packaged with an exotic English accent. She continued to care for her mom until she passed away shortly thereafter. She said, "I treasured the moments of my mom's last year and though it was a great sacrifice on my part, my mom's desire to be less of a burden was far nobler than anyone can ever imagine. And we had such a year."
That was not the end of her story. She had more to share and since I was willing to listen she sensed an opportunity to talk about another story of her life, perhaps as a way to lighten another load.
Fast forward to over two decades later, three children and stateside now, she continued her story. Two of her older children now have families of their own but a twenty-two year old son still lives with them. That was not really unusual but the story is.
A few years ago her son got into an auto accident. He drove while drunk. She revealed that early on in her re-telling. The car hit a tree. The son survived with a very serious head trauma. By the time they got to the hospital, the doctor had their son in an induced coma to stabilize him.
After a week, with their son still in an unconscious state, the medical staff was not optimistic. Later, the doctor, asked her to summon her husband from work, to discuss the situation. It was time to terminate medical care. It was time to pull the dreadful plug. Needless to say, it was a long discussion, a heated one at times, but she and her husband decided, NO.
Fast forward to four-five years later. Their son recovered. More physically than mentally. He can function with the facility of maybe a pre-teen kid, mentally, though physically competent, otherwise. She, the mother, again became the care-giver, tutor and physical coach. Their son had to be taught everything that he had lost - the power of speech, the ability to feed himself, and everything in between. From proper hygiene to dressing himself and ultimately to handle simple tasks like turning on the TV, watch it as any pre-teen would, prepare his food and ultimately to even use a cell phone.
While we were having our lunch, she showed me a text message from their son who was at home. It said, "I burned the kitchen while cooking otherwise everything is good enjoy your lunch." No commas or other punctuation marks. Sensing my shock, she said, "He has a sense of humor, doesn't he?. He does this all the time". Then she smiled wryly. But I can tell, she was okay with all that. She may have been quite pleased that her son does that. How does one person deal with something like this?
What can I say? What can we all say? Saints do exist? She had to be, to have gone through that, first with her mom, and now a son who throughout the rest of his life will depend on her or others (when she is gone) for all of his life's needs. He will never be gainfully employed nor will he be able to start a family of his own. But there is something he is able to do.
She takes him on a speaking schedule, whenever possible or invited, to high school class rooms to talk about drunk driving. More importantly, to talk about his story, only in a language young people will understand effectively to convey that one simple message - "Don't Drink and Drive"
What he may lack in eloquence is more than made up for by the story he is able to tell. And there are many others like him who are involved in this program that also include victims or surviving relatives of those who perished or maimed permanently from other drunk driving incidents.
Decisions. We all have to make them. Fortunately for almost all of us, we did not have to go through the same ones these two courageous ladies did. Two mothers whose commitments call for much beyond what is required of an ordinary human life. But as we come to know, motherhood is one extraordinary side of humanity and what these two have exemplified are those that could only come from the heart of a loving mother.
When we get to think about the world we live in - this world - we realize that apart from all the tangible physical things, the occurrence of events in time and space, our lives are a series of decisions. In fact, the ticket to get on board the train of life gets punched everytime we make a decision. A series of decisions we must face as we get through the day - from the mundane of what to have for breakfast, to the life-changing ones of what career to pick, whom to be friends with or whom to be married to or deciding not to be, and everything in between and beyond. We make choices. We are responsible for those choices' consequences to us and to others.
When the mother decided to have the child despite forewarnings by the doctor, it was one that changed her life on one hand; it was to give life, on the other. It would be a life of sacrifice for her and her family. For the second mother, the decision was about making a single life to continue. Its cost to her and her family is weighed again, as in the case of the first, against that of a single life. Were those the right decisions?
Count yourself with the blessing of not having to make such similar decisions. But lest we forget, how much of a blessing is it to the two mothers who chose the decision they made? That is the more profound question to ask.
P.S. The great news is that more and more businesses do offer opportunities for people like Fred. We see more and more of "Freds" and when you do, take time to appreciate them and, more importantly, the person - usually a mother - behind each of them.
If you have teenagers, encourage them to listen to one who speaks with the voice of the son (from the second mother).
Weeks ago I was at the cashier's checkout for groceries at the local store. While the cashier was scanning the items I noticed the bagboy carefully and very slowly putting them into plastic bags. The cashier often glanced silently at the obviously inexperienced bagboy. Twice, using no words, she motioned to him the proper way to bag an item. A few moments later, as the cashier was processing my payment, I noticed from one corner of my eye, a middle-age lady was at the bagboy's side, helping him along, making sure the two cartoons of eggs were laid flat and by themselves in one bag and the grapes and tomatoes went together by themselves, etc.
The nametag on the bagboy's shirt pocket said "Fred". I told him, "Fred, you did a great job". The lady who was helping him coaxed Fred to say, "Thank you". Fred did and mumbled a few words explaining where the eggs were among the bags now neatly arranged in the shopping cart. The lady looked at me smiling, unabashedly proud of Fred's momentary accomplishment. As I was about to wheel out the cart, the lady took a step or two near me and said almost in a hushed voice, "You know sixteen years ago, a few months before Fred was born, my obstetrician and the hospital administrator sat me down at the doctor's office.
That lady was Fred's mom. The doctor explained to her and her husband that the fetus carried the autism gene.
She added, "The medical assessment was that the child was likely going to be autistic - a very high probability, in fact. It was still early in the pregnancy so I was told that there was some decision to make about "exercising one option" without having to worry about ethical or legal repercussions".
She knew what that meant but it was not the choice they took. She added, "Sixteen years and look at him now". She was still literally beaming with pride and joy only a mother can express. I told her what she did was very noble and she responded that that was one decision she and her husband and family (they have two other children) never had once doubted was the right thing to do nor had any regrets whatsoever. One decision. One life.
Fred is not going to be ever "normal" for the rest of his life; whatever "normal" really means in a world now so socially fractured, so politically discordant, even ethically confusing. Bagging groceries might be right at near the top that a mother can ever hope for Fred. She may aim some slightly higher calling for Fred but it will not be monumentally ambitious nor would it matter much for Fred's ego. And that is where we find that simplicity can triumph over a lot of things. Fred may never be able to discern nor will he ever be capable of comprehending deep human emotions, sympathy or empathy even (in the classical sense). He may never exhibit the finer points of social graces, nor appreciate a well-written novel nor the nuances of poetry nor the beauty of an impressionist painting. He may never fall in love, even develop a crush, or harbor infatuation. He feels physical pain but never the anguish of a romantic heartbreak. He will have frustrations over a chore, but never about composing a letter; clearly never about punctuations and grammar. He expresses happiness but he will always exhibit it not to get past the threshold of the joy of innocence. He will always be free of and unencumbered by the complexities of a complicated life that we - the "normal" folks - routinely have to deal with.
Such is how we look at Fred. However, we cannot think of Fred without the love of a mother. We think of his mother and we look back at sixteen years ago. Could we have made the same decision? Could we have made the same sacrifices? Even today, we know Fred's mom has to drive him to and from the grocery store where he "works". We all know that Fred's mom was not only faced with one life-altering decision, she was prepared even to this day to a life-long commitment and dedication that came with it. The sacrificial burden she will carry for the rest of her life. The thought that Fred will outlive her is one worry that confronts her daily - who will care for Fred when she is gone?
At an alumni luncheon just recently - one of a handful of company annual get-together events for retirees - my wife and I happen to sit at a table with a few retirees we met for the first time. As we go to these functions we seem to see less and less of the people we know. Actually, most of those we see now are the new batch of retirees. We must look ancient to these folks but they sure are glad to see fellow retirees still living and able to go to these functions. We felt that way too when we first came to these events over a decade ago. In fact, I would make it a point to sit with those who seemed to have been retirees for sometime; in other words, those that looked much older than we were. From them we knew that retirement must have been good to these folks and they were always a great source for the secret to growing older "slowly". You know what that means. To put it bluntly, it is the art or science, if there is such a thing, of somehow managing to slow down the ravages of old age. There must be such a thing because there is this gentleman who served in the Korean War before working for the company. I don't think he ever misses these events because he is always present. We've missed several but the odds that he only shows up every time we go is not likely the case. Anyway, he is 94 years old now and he comes in by himself (a widower) and he drives a Lincoln SUV. He now walks with a cane but as late as two years ago he would walk and stand straight like any sixty year old newly retired employee. There are many of these folks we get to talk with in these functions. I thought it was worthwhile to talk about that but there was something else during this one luncheon.
Before getting to a table just before all the attendees had arrived we chanced upon a conversation with a couple who happened to pick up their name tags at the reception table at about the same time we got there. The four of us decided to sit at the same table. Eventually we were joined by three other couples.
The husband, from the first couple we just met, was the retiree and he was originally from England. Inevitably the conversation led to "how did y'all meet?", particularly because he was British and she was from Florida and they met in the Bahamas - but not on a cruise ship or vacation, as I initially tried to deduce in my feeble attempt to be Sherlock Holmes. She had an interesting story, far nobler than I expected. I happened to sit next to her.
She is an only child. While still a young adult her mother was stricken with Parkinson's disease. She decided to be her mom's care giver outside of everything else the hospital or medical staff provided, specially when it was time for her mom to be home. They decided to relocate to the Bahamas, at least temporarily anyway, where they found an alternative medical facility for her mom which was also less financially draining compared to stateside care. It was a sacrifice on her part, being a young woman and all that, but she did. And that is how she met the dashing young man working for an off shore oil company, packaged with an exotic English accent. She continued to care for her mom until she passed away shortly thereafter. She said, "I treasured the moments of my mom's last year and though it was a great sacrifice on my part, my mom's desire to be less of a burden was far nobler than anyone can ever imagine. And we had such a year."
That was not the end of her story. She had more to share and since I was willing to listen she sensed an opportunity to talk about another story of her life, perhaps as a way to lighten another load.
Fast forward to over two decades later, three children and stateside now, she continued her story. Two of her older children now have families of their own but a twenty-two year old son still lives with them. That was not really unusual but the story is.
A few years ago her son got into an auto accident. He drove while drunk. She revealed that early on in her re-telling. The car hit a tree. The son survived with a very serious head trauma. By the time they got to the hospital, the doctor had their son in an induced coma to stabilize him.
After a week, with their son still in an unconscious state, the medical staff was not optimistic. Later, the doctor, asked her to summon her husband from work, to discuss the situation. It was time to terminate medical care. It was time to pull the dreadful plug. Needless to say, it was a long discussion, a heated one at times, but she and her husband decided, NO.
Fast forward to four-five years later. Their son recovered. More physically than mentally. He can function with the facility of maybe a pre-teen kid, mentally, though physically competent, otherwise. She, the mother, again became the care-giver, tutor and physical coach. Their son had to be taught everything that he had lost - the power of speech, the ability to feed himself, and everything in between. From proper hygiene to dressing himself and ultimately to handle simple tasks like turning on the TV, watch it as any pre-teen would, prepare his food and ultimately to even use a cell phone.
While we were having our lunch, she showed me a text message from their son who was at home. It said, "I burned the kitchen while cooking otherwise everything is good enjoy your lunch." No commas or other punctuation marks. Sensing my shock, she said, "He has a sense of humor, doesn't he?. He does this all the time". Then she smiled wryly. But I can tell, she was okay with all that. She may have been quite pleased that her son does that. How does one person deal with something like this?
What can I say? What can we all say? Saints do exist? She had to be, to have gone through that, first with her mom, and now a son who throughout the rest of his life will depend on her or others (when she is gone) for all of his life's needs. He will never be gainfully employed nor will he be able to start a family of his own. But there is something he is able to do.
She takes him on a speaking schedule, whenever possible or invited, to high school class rooms to talk about drunk driving. More importantly, to talk about his story, only in a language young people will understand effectively to convey that one simple message - "Don't Drink and Drive"
What he may lack in eloquence is more than made up for by the story he is able to tell. And there are many others like him who are involved in this program that also include victims or surviving relatives of those who perished or maimed permanently from other drunk driving incidents.
Decisions. We all have to make them. Fortunately for almost all of us, we did not have to go through the same ones these two courageous ladies did. Two mothers whose commitments call for much beyond what is required of an ordinary human life. But as we come to know, motherhood is one extraordinary side of humanity and what these two have exemplified are those that could only come from the heart of a loving mother.
When we get to think about the world we live in - this world - we realize that apart from all the tangible physical things, the occurrence of events in time and space, our lives are a series of decisions. In fact, the ticket to get on board the train of life gets punched everytime we make a decision. A series of decisions we must face as we get through the day - from the mundane of what to have for breakfast, to the life-changing ones of what career to pick, whom to be friends with or whom to be married to or deciding not to be, and everything in between and beyond. We make choices. We are responsible for those choices' consequences to us and to others.
When the mother decided to have the child despite forewarnings by the doctor, it was one that changed her life on one hand; it was to give life, on the other. It would be a life of sacrifice for her and her family. For the second mother, the decision was about making a single life to continue. Its cost to her and her family is weighed again, as in the case of the first, against that of a single life. Were those the right decisions?
Count yourself with the blessing of not having to make such similar decisions. But lest we forget, how much of a blessing is it to the two mothers who chose the decision they made? That is the more profound question to ask.
P.S. The great news is that more and more businesses do offer opportunities for people like Fred. We see more and more of "Freds" and when you do, take time to appreciate them and, more importantly, the person - usually a mother - behind each of them.
If you have teenagers, encourage them to listen to one who speaks with the voice of the son (from the second mother).
Great story ! Worthwhile reading, inspiring. Thank for blogging
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