Do you ever get the feeling that the universe is having a laugh at your expense? Or maybe it’s just giving you a poke in the ribs as a wake-up call? Sometimes events and experiences can line up in a way that you think is surely only coincidence, and yet they feed directly into whatever it is you’ve been wrestling with of late.
So it has been with me. Last week I posted a blog considering the issue of special needs people with special gifts. I wondered where my Dancing Wombat daughter lay on this continuum – if at all. Then lo and behold, behold and lo, I chanced to read an obituary a few days ago which gave me new energy for the journey. (Yep – I’m showing my age by reading the obits. You should try it. They’re interesting, eye opening and always inspiring.)
This one described the life of Lindsay Endacott, “Woodchopper”. Born in 1943, Lindsay was diagnosed as profoundly deaf at the age of two. His mother had contracted rubella (German measles) during her pregnancy. By the way, if you haven’t already done it – VACCINATE YOUR KIDS NOW – THERE IS NO EXCUSE!!!
As well as having to cope with her child’s deafness, his mother had to cope with extremely difficult and destructive behaviours – many of which we would now associate with autism. Despite his mother’s heroic efforts, Lindsay grew up with few communication skills, locked into his own silent world thanks to the attitudes and assumptions of “experts”.
He was given no tools to express himself or develop his thinking, and lost some of the most important years of his his life while his mother battled bureaucracy in order to get an education for her child. Reading about some of the family’s struggles certainly put some of our autism-related challenges into perspective. They’re nothing in comparison to what the Endacott parents, siblings and Lindsay himself had to manage.
I urge you to read the obituary. It is heartbreaking, tragic and inspiring in equal measure. It’s a salutary lesson in many things. Here are a few for you to contemplate:
– Attitudes can stifle a person’s potential (“The “experts” at the Children’s Hospital told [his mother] “never use sign language” because it would make [Lindsday] lazy and he wouldn’t learn to lip-read”.
- Assumptions can hinder a person’s development. Lindsay was expected to pick up lip-reading “naturally”. No training was provided. However, as he never looked anyone in the face, how on earth could he possibly have learnt this skill?
- Parents often have to fight tooth and nail so their children can have access to basic things like education, only to find that the system seems stacked against them. (Sadly, this still happens all too often today.) The Deaf School had refused to accept Lindsay because of his behaviour, so the family privately engaged a sign language tutor. This was promising, until the tutor stopped coming. Back then, teachers weren’t able to accept paid work outside their government job, and Lindsay’s tutor also worked at the Deaf School. The principal found out.
- Dealing with special needs children takes a toll on parents and siblings (“… his parents’ mental health was suffering …”).
- Institutions established to help special needs people sometimes do the opposite. Even back then, there were places with poor reputations for how they treated special needs people. Guess what? It’s still happening.
(As an aside, when are we going to have the Royal Commission that the Australian Senate called for back in November 2015, after releasing its report on violence, abuse and neglect against people with disability in institutional and residential settings? Let’s follow the example of some other recent, high profile Royal Commissions, and keep shedding light into the dark corners of our society.
Yet, for all the these tragedies and challenges, part of Lindsay’s story sparkled with hope, like a gem shining through its rock prison:
- Despite all the injustices, indignities and struggles that special needs people and their families still face, we are further advanced in our attitudes, understanding and care than we were fifty years ago
- With care, patience and consistency it is possible to grow and develop – even after a lifetime of deprivation (“With personalised care plans and support…. Lindsay started to form relationships… and lived a fuller life”), and – significantly…
- It is possible for anyone to find a passion if we keep on trying different things and never give up. (“At her wits’ end, [his mother] showed Lindsay an axe and a pile of wood… And he took to it like a duck to water. From that day until his death he had a passion for chopping wood.”)
I’ve realised, with a bit of help from Lindsay and reader feedback, that perhaps I am looking for the wrong thing. That gifts and passions can be found together, but don’t need to go hand in hand. So my Dancing Wombat daughter has a passion for Lego Friends and two particular magazines. (And eating, but that’s another story!) Perhaps she will have other passions which she discovers on her journey through life. And perhaps she will also discover a special gift, but who really cares.
Lindsay Endacott
As long as she has the skills and strategies to live a meaningful life, where she can both contribute to her community and receive from it, where she can be a friend and enjoy friendship, love and be loved, and where she can follow her interests and pursue her passions and always have a chance to extend her horizons… Surely that’s what we want for any of our children and for ourselves.
At least, that’s where my thinking’s at currently. What about you? Do your children have a special passion or interest? If not, how do you help them find one? Or are you leaving that up to them? I’d love to hear your stories.
