Unsung Heros

“You talkin’ to me? Then who the hell else are you talking…you talking to me? Well I’m the only one here.” – Robert De Niro

Normally, I spend the bulk of the time blogging about my son – makes sense, right? Since he is the one with Autism. But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of the biggest supporters of the family. The definition of an unsung hero is a person who makes a substantive yet unrecognized contribution. These words could not be more apropos when describing my daughter.

Like most parents, I watch my kids when they aren’t looking. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those parents that hover over my kids, trying to cover them in bubble-wrap to ensure they won’t get hurt. My wife and I believe that children need to explore and test their limits, so they can figure out what they are capable of. They need to learn that it is ok to fall down, and how to pick themselves back up.

Our concern is what happens when we cannot be there, to tell them that it is ok to fall, and even better to start again. Our son is prone to frequent emotional breakdowns; it comes from having a heart the size of Texas and having it get stepped on repeatedly, intentionally or not, by other friends of his. Unfortunately, those breakdowns seem to occur more frequently the older he gets, probably due to the fact that he, like the rest of us, want friends that don’t tease, don’t make fun, but accept us for who we are.  And on an even more subtle level, I think he realizes the need to be socially accepted in school.

So what does this have to do with my daughter? Good question. First, a little back-story (yeah, I know, I’m all about the back-story). We adopted our daughter when she was one year old, from China. At that time, our son was two and a half, and not yet diagnosed. Perfect family picture, right? (If any of you actually have the perfect family, come see me, I have a trophy for you.) It wasn’t for another year until CJ was diagnosed. At that time, his vocabulary had slowly started to drop off, until he stopped talking altogether.  His pre-school teachers said that he was just shy, but going completely non-verbal, coupled with about a dozen other symptoms at home, led us to get him tested, and then moved into a special school. At the same time, my daughter started talking. A lot. I mean A LOT,a lot. Words, sounds, singing, giggling, humming, you name it. If there was a sound she could make, she would make it. (And for the most part, still does today.)

The therapists told us to carry on a conversation with CJ, and answer the questions for him, as if he was the one answering. So imagine my wife riding around town, with my son staring blankly out the window, with my wife talking to herself, answering her own questions, while crying. I am sure a lot of passing motorists must have thought she had lost her mind. Two years of no talking. Of course, my daughter picked up on these conversations with my son, and started talking to CJ too. She would talk about everything and anything that a 3 year old finds interesting. Which, for those of you that have or have had 3 year olds, knows that is EVERYTHING. And then, one day, it just happened. We Don’t even know when. He just answered her. This only encouraged her to talk to him more. And he kept answering her. And talking to her. And to us. A bit at a time, little by little. To this day, my wife and I give full credit to our daughter for helping CJ to find his voice again. It is a bit of a running joke in our house. We half-joke that he felt that he had better start talking, or she would never stop. (Well, buddy, you were half right).

So, with the back-story out of the way, I watch my kids. The thing that amazes me most about my daughter is how much she loves her brother. If we are at a park, and nobody is playing with CJ, Jackie will stop playing with her friends, and seek out CJ to play with him. CJ and Jackie both know that she is much more athletic than he is, and she will spend time working with him to help him improve his skills, be it running, playing catch, or riding a bike. When he has a meltdown in the car because another kid was mean to him that day, she gives advice in the way that only a 7 year old could, and in a way that only a 9 year old would appreciate. And when she accidentally and unknowingly sets off one of his emotional breakdowns, she hurts too, not for herself, but because he hurts. Don’t get me wrong, they still have the same sibling issues that all kids with brothers and sisters do-“you’re on my half of the back seat” and “why does he/she get to do that when I don’t?”, but she has a level of maturity and understanding about her that I don’t even see in many adults. With us, her parents, we still get the 7 years going on 13; the attitude, the eye rolling, temperamental door slamming, and even an occasional sassing, but with her brother, she is a rock star. She adores her brother and idolizes him, but on some level, she also knows how to support him and soothe him in ways Diane and I never would have thought of. She actively seeks him out to include him in games and play, and tries to engage him in ways that his parents never could.

So this post is for all of the Henrys and Stellas and Jackies out there that help their special needs siblings in so many ways, without complaint or request of compensation. But mainly it is for Jackie, my little rock star. You are my hero.