Perfectly
Normal
The year was 1963.
That's when I was born...to "perfectly normal" parents at a
"perfectly
normal" Cleveland hospital.
I would like to say that I was a "perfectly normal,"
healthy baby,
ready to take on the world. But instead, I was
born with
multiple deformities. My eyes were almost on the
sides of
my head, and I only had holes where my nose was
supposed
to be. I had a club foot and was missing all but one
toe, if it
could be called that. Also, three of my fingers were
missing on
my right hand. A cleft palate had an opening in my
top lip and
extended all the way to the right eye.
Unfortunately,
even one leg was shorter than the other.
The hospital staff, I was told, thought I had too many
problems
to survive. The doctors, in fact, refused to show me
to my parents
and, incredulously, even gave my parents forms to
sign to "give
me up for science."
I can only thank God that my parents had other plans for my
life. I belonged
to them and to God. They intended to love and
accept me
just as I was, despite acknowledging that it would be
a long, hard
road ahead.
At the age of seven months, I began to undergo a very long
series of
operations. However, the first seven were deemed
failures.
The surgeons, it seemed, were trying to do too much
at once.
I, on the other hand, was like a puzzle that needed to
be "put together"
one piece at a time.
While successive surgeries were a little more successful,
my appearance
was still far from normal. In fact, very few
people knew
that I had already had sixteen operations by the
time I was
ready for third grade.
When I began kindergarten, I was placed in a special-
education
classroom because my appearance and imperfect speech
were not
accepted. Aside from being labeled a "special-ed" kid,
I endured
constant ridicule from other students who called me
"stupid,"
"ugly" and "retarded" because of my looks. I also
walked with
a limp and had to wear special shoes and braces on
my legs.
I spent almost every school holiday in the hospital
having operations
and also missed a lot of school. I wondered
if I would
ever get out of special classes. My desire to become
a "normal"
child prompted my parents to pursue tests that would
place me
back in regular education classrooms. My parents and I
worked very
hard that summer to get ready for the big test.
Finally,
I was tested.
I'll never forget the day I waited outside the principal's
office while
my parents received my test results. The brown
door between
them and me seemed to loom bigger and bigger as
time went
by. Time passed in slow motion. I longed to put my
ear to the
door to hear what was being said.
After an hour passed, my mother finally emerged with a tear
streaming
down her cheek. I thought, 'Oh, no, another year in
special-ed.'
But much to my relief, the principal put his hand
on my shoulder
and said, "Welcome to 3B, young man!" My mom
gave me a
big hug.
Another milestone in fourth grade was the "miracle" that my
parents and
I had longed for. I was selected to undergo a very
experimental
surgery that would resculpt my entire face with
bone grafts.
The surgery was life-threatening and lasted ten
hours.
I survived this operation, my eighteenth, which really
changed my
life. At last, my nose had a shape, my lip was
"fixed" and
my eyes were very close to being in their normal
position.
While I now faced a new chapter in my life from a physical
perspective,
I hadn't seen the end of my trials.
Within the next few years, my mother developed cancer and
died, but
not before instilling in me a sense of worth and the
determination
never to give up.
When other kids called me names, she had prompted, "Don't
let those
names bother you. Feel sorry for those kids who were
not brought
up right."
In addition, my parents taught me to be thankful for my
blessings,
pointing out that other people might have even
greater challenges.
Their words eventually impacted my life when I did see
people with
greater challenges - in hospitals and whenever I did
volunteer
work with children who were mentally challenged.
As a teenager, I came to realize that my purpose in life
was to help
others become successful with whatever gifts they
were blessed
with, despite the things that society might point
out as handicaps
or shortcomings. In fact, my father advised,
"Mike, you
would make a great special-ed teacher." I knew what
it was like
to be a special-ed child.
However, I simply wasn't ready to make teaching my career
choice at
that point. Instead, I earned a degree in business
and went
on to become a very successful salesman, spending seven
years in
retail management. Then, I went on to become a very
successful
bank employee, spending five years as a loan officer.
Still, something
in my life was missing.
Despite the fact that I had met and married a special-ed
teacher,
it took me twelve years to realize that was my calling
also and
that my dad had been right.
Continuing my college education, pursuing a master's degree
in education,
I now teach in the same school district as my
wife.
My classroom is a kaleidoscope of children with special
needs - emotional,
physical and mental. My newest career choice
is my most
challenging yet. I love to see my students' smiling
faces when
they learn something new, when a few words are spoken
and when
an award is won in the Special Olympics.
I've now gone through twenty-nine surgeries. While many
have brought
a lot of pain to my life, the fact that I have
survived
them all only seems to reiterate to me that God has a
purpose for
my life, as well as for every other life. I see my
purpose being
fulfilled one child at a time.
I may not have been a "perfectly normal" healthy baby, but
I am ready
to take on the world - thanks to God and to people
like my mom.
The motto she gave me will always be the motto I
use in my
own classroom: Never give up.
~author
unknown to me ~
