Lindsey was almost three when we brought her little brother home from the hospital. She couldn’t get enough of Michael’s tiny mouth, nose, and ears. Whenever I turned my head, Lindsey poked her fingers in them.
“Be kind, be gentle,” I’d say, reminding her over and over again.
“OK,” she’d say, then quickly poke a finger in his other ear.
Lindsey’s little brother isn’t so little anymore. This month he will celebrate his thirty-first birthday. And although this is a blog about parenting a daughter with special needs, our entire family was affected (in a multitude of positive and not-so-positive ways) by Lindsey’s specialness.
I recently watched and listened to Alicia Arenas video: Recognizing Glass Children. She talks about siblings of children with special needs and how they can feel a lot of pressure to help out, to be a support to their parents, to be perfect. Sometimes, because the child in the family with special needs requires so much attention, typical brothers and sisters tend to be like glass—parents see right through them.
Ever since listening to Ms. Arenas, I’d wondered whether Michael had experienced similar feelings as a kid. Lindsey spent many grade school hours arguing instead of the seconds it would take to pick up her toys, brush her teeth, or make her bed. And whenever Lindsey’s volume increased, Michael covered his ears and said, “Linds, just listen to Mom and Dad. Please just do what they say.” If his sister didn’t calm quickly, Michael asked to go next door, to his friend’s house. We’d nod and our son would disappear out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.
So I wondered, did Michael feel like he got enough attention? Did he feel like one of the glass children Alicia Arenas talks about?
I recently spoke to our son on the phone. He works in New Mexico at the moment, but he has traveled all over the world. Once, when Michael used vague language to explain his career, my sister said, “Admit it, Michael. You’re a spy.” And his answer? “Pretty much.”
But Michael wasn’t so secretive about his life with Lindsey. “Sure I got annoyed with her,” he said. I held my breath, waiting for the rest of my son’s answer. “But I can only remember fighting with her over the remote control.” He claimed to have received plenty of praise from us. “I never felt neglected,” he added, saying he didn’t recall feeling stressed about Lindsey’s disability or that he was given more than his share of household responsibilities–two of the situations Alicia talks about in her video. In fact, he said, “I didn’t even realize Lindsey had a disability until junior high. You and Dad didn’t make a big deal about it,” he added, causing me to release that held breath. “Lindsey was just my sister.”
The Oregon town we live in is an excellent fit for our family; most of the townspeople embrace unique. Heck in 2008, Silverton elected the first transgender mayor in the United States. So Lindsey’s unusual gait, her self-talk, or the odd way she sometimes dresses didn’t embarrass Michael. “She was just Lindsey,” he said, adding that he didn’t remember ever being teased by other kids about having a sister with developmental delays.
One of my great loves has been to show our kids the world. I couldn’t wait to take them to a new place, a different country. By the time Michael reached ninth grade, Lindsey had made it clear she hated to travel and begged to stay with her Grandma and Grandpa. I’d begun to notice that changes in Lindsey’s schedule and environment put undue stress on my daughter. And when she was stressed, she took her anger out on us. Eventually, I caved and let Lindsey stay with my parents, and we took Michael on trips by himself.
“The vacations were more enjoyable without Lindsey,” Michael admitted during our phone conversation. “And I got you and Dad all to myself for a change.” What initially was a huge concern, turned out to be a win/win situation for everyone in our family. Lindsey got one-on-one attention from her grandparents and Michael got one-on-one attention from us. We sent Lindsey postcards. “I loved to get mail,” she said, smiling wide enough to expose two rows of perfect, white teeth. “Especially when you sent ones with pictures of aminals.” (Yes, that is the way my thirty-three-year-old daughter still pronounces animals.)
Lindsey married a year and a half ago. That October, Michael’s work schedule was tight and time-off was rare. He could only get about thirty-six hours before he had to return to his job. Still, he flew home. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” Michael said. “She’s my sister.”
“I love my brother,” Lindsey told me last week. “He’s the best brother I ever had.” Her blue eyes sparkled and she giggled like a school girl. “And he was always there for me.” I asked for an example and she immediately told me about the time her great-grandmother died.
“I was lying on the couch. Michael and his friends walked into the room and I overheard my brother say, ‘Don’t bug my sister. She’s sad right now.'” Lindsey said Michael’s friends left her alone and she thought that was really nice. “And after Michael passed his driver’s test and got his license, if he saw me walking around town, he’d pull over and ask if I wanted a ride,” she paused. “He’s family. It’s cool to have a brother.”
So, happy 31st birthday Michael. It’s cool to have a son. And you are the best one we ever had.
My first book will be coming out September 26, 2017. If you are interested in learning more about Loving Lindsey: Raising a Daughter with Special Needs, please click here.
