Voices
everything right, I thought — I followed the rules, made good grades,
worked hard, and took care of my
body. Overnight, my career was
derailed, my two degrees seemed
worthless, and my dreams of soccer games were crushed.
I struggled with the unfairness
of it all. I didn’t want my daughter to have to struggle; I didn’t
want to be the odd man out at
playdates and birthday parties; I
didn’t want us to stand out like
a sore thumb and field questions
about what was “wrong” with her
everywhere we went.
When I was able to be grateful, however, I was thankful for
the one thing I had hoped and
prayed for before she was born:
she was smart. When I thought
about how Sarah Kate will always struggle with actions most
people take for granted, like running and jumping, I reassured
myself that she might never earn
a sports scholarship, but she’d
be sure to earn an academic
one. When she was only 4, at an
evaluation to determine whether
or not her developmental delays
would qualify her for services,
the special education administrator noted that she thought
Sarah Kate was probably gifted.
ANDI
SLIGH
HUFFINGTON
11.03.13
I was proud that my daughter
would also be The Smart Kid.
Then my son, Nathan, was
born. We enjoyed a few moments
of ignorant bliss after his birth
before we learned what the doctors suspected — he had Down
syndrome. As with Sarah Kate’s
diagnosis of cerebral palsy, Nathan’s diagnosis of Down syndrome was a blow. I couldn’t un-
As with Sarah Kate’s
diagnosis of cerebral
palsy, Nathan’s diagnosis
of Down syndrome was a
blow. I couldn’t understand
why God would send us
not one, but two, children
with disabilities.”
derstand why God would send us
not one, but two, children with
disabilities. It seemed almost
a cruel joke on me, because the
one thing I was certain Nathan
would never be was smart.
It took four decades for me to
accept that success and achievement in the way our society
views them are not only not essential, but also not important.