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By Bill Abbott
Dear Mr. May:
One afternoon I was reading articles from Exeptional Parent magazine to my
husband, Bill. When I finished the “Fathers Voices” section, I looked up to
see tears rolling down my rugged husband’s face. “It’s a good thing,” he
said, and walked out of the room, embarrassed by his release of emotions.
Several hours later I was intrigued to find my husband frantically writing
away in a tattered notebook. My two children kept vying for his attention,
but Bill was entirely focused on the project at hand. Finally he took a deep
breath, scooted his chair back and said, “This is my story.”
My husband has never been big on words or expressing his feelings. After
reading his story about his relationship with our son, Gregory, tears rolled
down my face as well. “This is wonderful!” I said. “Let me send it in to
“Fathers’ Voices.” He told me that it didn’t matter if I sent it or not. It
just felt good to say what he felt.
I have enclosed my husband’s story. I will keep it for my son to read when
he is older. After the birth of our second son, Patrick, who is now eight
months old, we realized that we will have new challenges and issues every
day. Thanks to Exceptional Parent magazine and “Fathers’ Voices” for the
information, support, and inspiration…
While I waited for my child to be born, I was like any other Dad. I dreamed
of having my first son. I thought of how I would teach him to throw a curve
ball and catch a football. As a young child and teenager, my life revolved
around sports.
The day my son, Gregory, was born, was one that I will never forget. When
the doctor said, “It’s a boy,” I was walking on air. Then reality knocked me
to the ground. Gregory had sustained a brain injury after an excruciatingly
long labor and nightmarish forceps birth. He was rushed to a larger hospital
where he spent the next tow weeks in neonatal I.C.U. At least he was alive,
but I felt completely powerless to help him.
As the months went by, we began to realize that Gregory was not doing things
that other babies had already mastered. After many visits to specialists, we
were faced head-on with a diagnosis of Cerebral Palsy. I am an over-the-road
truck driver. The night that my wife, Cara, gave me the news, I was in
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. I was mad at the world. I asked God and my late
father above, “Why has this awful thing happened to me?” as if I were the
one with C.P.
Four and a half years later the “son” is teaching the “dad.” Gregory has
shown me that he has more heart and gumption than any ballplayer that I have
ever seen. Gregory’s C.O. affects his right arm and leg, his speech, and his
balance. As I watch him working on walking and using his weak arm, I have to
restrain myself from helping him, as I know it will be better for him to do
it himself in the long run.
I have always dreamed of being a coach. Well, I got my wish. Encouraging
Gregory to be independent will be the biggest game that I will ever coach.
The skills that I teach range from throwing a ball to pulling pants down and
back up again.
I could talk about my son all day. As for most parents, seeing your child
take his or her first steps is thrilling. When you child wears ankle-foot
orthotics and is two and a half years old, seeing him take his first steps
is a miracle. I would gladly take his place, to make his life easier.
However, my son has shown me that I have little to worry about. He has the
drive to accomplish whatever he decides is important to him.
Gregory is my son and my best friend. There are parts of me that only he
knows and understands. Teaching him how to stand still in one spot without
taking a tumble or learning to successfully navigate the bathroom is a much
greater reward than winning any Super Bowl, World Series, or World Cup.
Reprinted with permission from Exceptional Parent Magazine (previously
published in the “Fathers’ Voices,” Exceptional Parent magazine, November,
1994.) Copyright, all rights reserved by EP. Access or subscribe to the EP
magazine at www.eparent.com or call
1-800 EPARENT.
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There is an
energy in us which makes things happen when the paths of other persons touch
ours.
from the Monks of Weston Priory
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