This latest post from Our Lived Perspective is, again, another old one: and, again, it was brought to mind by a thread in which someone had shared a negative comment they had either seen or received, posted apparently by the mother of an adult with Down’s Syndrome, who seemed extremely embittered with her life, who blamed her daughter for everything that was wrong in her life. Some queried what had happened to make her so bitter. Others, however, pointed out how much harder it must have been decades ago when parents did not receive the support that is available now, and we’re simply told that their children would never learn anything and there was nothing to be done. I’m sure it must have been.
But, if the encounters I have had with the parents of (now) older adults with Down’s Syndrome are anything to go by, there have always been families who thrived, regardless, even back then in those days of bleak prognosis. You may say that those who had a negative experience would not come and talk to me, because they would not be eager to talk about it, especially to a stranger, and I would have to agree. But if most parents in the past were struggling, were miserable, and embittered, then you would hardly expect anyone from the older generation to come up and talk to me at all. And yet, I have had many such encounters – positive encounters. So, here’s another post about a random encounter I had with a parent from an older generation: once again, I think it demonstrates the difference between the reality experienced by the families of those with Down’s Syndrome, and the mistaken perceptions held by the public (and medical profession) of what our lives must be like. I promise you, what lady said to me about her elder daughter’s wish for a baby just like her sister is, truthfully, what she actually said. I did not make it up for emphasis. It surprised me at the time, but then, as I have learned, people are infinitely surprising:
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS IN PRIMARK.
Primark is a great place to find a bargain; but, whilst shopping for cheap shorts and tee-shirts for Freddie’s first holiday, I found something I hadn’t bargained for.
Freddie was eighteen months old. I was browsing tentatively, keeping an eye on him as he craned out of his buggy, trying to reach the nearest garments to snatch them off their hangers. ‘Hiya’ was his only word at that time, and he shouted it enthusiatically at every passer-by, hoping for a reaction. Soon enough, he got one. A lady, well into her seventies, came over and began to coo at him in a grandmotherly way. Freddie lapped it up and became utterly charming, making eyes and flirting outrageously. I joined in the conversation with some apprehension. Would she notice? I knew the words people of my mother’s generation used to describe children like Freddie, the negative preconceptions they held.
Suddenly she called out to someone I could not see, presumably a baby-loving companion: ‘Jan! There’s a little one here.’
My attention was on Freddie, I was looking down, wiping his chin. A lady’s feet apppeared in front of the buggy, a head bent over it and was treated to a luminous Freddie-smile.
‘Has he got Down’s?’ she asked
‘Yes,’ I said firmly and looked up … into a pair of distinctively almond-shaped eyes. ‘Just like me,’ she exclaimed, beaming.
We talked and talked, all shopping forgotten. The conversation glowed warm with love and positivity, as did the good-natured banter between the lady and Jan.
When Jan went off to look at something that caught her eye, the lady said: ‘If everyone was more like my daughter there’d be no wars. She sees the good in everyone.’ She told me that she had another daughter also, and four grandchildren, and, to my complete astonishment said that this other daughter had always hoped to have a baby with Down’s herself, so much did she adore her sister. ‘Longed for’ were the words she used.
Primark tee-shirt — £3.50. Finding acceptance and love among the racks and rails — Priceless.