This was something I wrote last year for some sort of contest but I never got around to entering it. It is a true story about something that happened to me. Just thought I'd share it.
I hate people. This is my motto. People aggravate and anger me incredibly. I can usually judge whether I will get along with someone after only speaking with them for a mere minute.
Finding out that my brother Michael had autism, only made matters worse. Now on top of the usual annoyance, I had to deal with people staring at us in every public place we went. Never mind that their child was throwing food and a temper tantrum because they didn't get the happy meal toy they wanted, lets all stare at the little boy who is humming to himself quietly, because that’s not normal. After a while me and my mother began to make a joke out of this and say incredulously as we stare back at the tantrum child "and they say our child has problems!"
Over the years Michael behaved much better. He learned to be patient and wait in lines, and to quietly wait for his food in a restaurant. I pitched in of course by taking care of him most of the time making myself the built in babysitter that most siblings of handicapped children eventually become. It was no easy task. Walking for the hundredth time around Wal-Mart while my mom spends four hours shopping was no picnic. Strolling through the grocery stored with eight year old who would occasionally reach out and pinch someone, or try to grab their drink or groceries was not easy to explain. All I could do was turn around and apologize as quickly as possible while slipping in that he’s handicapped. Usually they let it go once they heard those magic words and went on their way, but there where a few who would continue to stare at me as if we had previously planned to steal their bag of pretzels and make a break for it. As if I lied about my brother’s autism just to cover up his “bad” behavior because after all, he didn’t look handicapped. He wasn’t in a wheel chair or slumped over with a lost look in his eyes. He looked like a handsome, healthy seven year old brat. It was these people I hated most.
They were common. At the amusement parks, the stores, restaurants, parks, and especially the place me and my brother were about to go. One hot, early August day my mother needed to go see a doctor which meant only one thing: a waiting room full of glaring people. There was never anything to do in a waiting room but to either read the two year old magazines, dance to the elevator music, watch the most boring channel of news that happened to be on the TV, or stare into space. When we entered the local first care, I could see these were the stare into space kind. A few seconds after we were seated, Michael began to sing. Since he couldn’t talk, Michael’s version of singing was a open mouthed hum that only my family enjoyed since it was the only time we got to hear his beautiful voice. However, for somebody who had never heard it before it could only come off as being annoying.
Trying to persuade him to stop and be quieter, I gave him a juice box, which lasted a hot thirty seconds. My mother insisted that I go outside with him as that now half the waiting room was looking at us. I refused, feeling that it was far too hot to make us wait outside in the parking lot for an hour. Secretly though I also didn’t want the strangers in the waiting room to win. Still, I had my ways and was not going to let my brother go on annoying people. It was my nature to get him quiet as soon as possible. It took a lot of gentle persuasion but eventually fifteen minutes later Michael was quiet and my mother had finally gone in to see the doctor. Now I got the chance to leaf through a magazine while my brother quietly stimmed to himself. It was the best I could do but the people continued to stare. Even when I tried not to look up at them, I could feel their glares pierce through me, breaking my heart.
I could have only wished to get up the strength to look up at them and stare them in the eye. Just to say “He’s handicapped for gods’ sake! Can’t you just leave him alone?” would have been the greatest thing in the world. No, I was too meek and shy to ever do anything daring like that. I was always seen as the innocent girl when really I longed to be something else. I hated the people in this room. I though I had them all figured out.
Fate was out to prove me wrong that day. Just as I was furiously flipping through the pages of the magazine in order to blow off steam a woman from across the room was called in. Before she left the waiting room however, she swiftly dropped and envelope marked with the words “for you” underlined in my lap and ran off before I could even look up.
Unsure of what was inside and whether I should open it, I hastily ran outside with my brother. Then somehow holding his hand, the folded over envelop, and the diaper bag I ripped the top open so quickly that I tore the tissue paper thin letter inside. In horror I opened it up and saw a twenty dollar bill fall out of the tissue paper it had been wrapped up with. There was a note inside that read “I couldn’t help but admire your patience and love for your brother. You are a blessing to your family, I’m sure. Please treat yourself to something nice. You deserve it. There should be more people like you in this world.”
Speechless and dumbfounded I could only stuff the contents back into the envelope and sit on the curb in shock. It was certainly not the money that had made a difference in my mind. It was the words of that woman. The fact that somebody actually acknowledged the sacrifices, patience, and love it takes to be a sibling of a handicapped child where enormous. For once I was wrong, not all people are alike. There are people out there that do understand and do care.
Thinking back on that day gives me new hope. She said that there should be more people like me in the world, well, the same goes for her.
I hate people. This is my motto. People aggravate and anger me incredibly. I can usually judge whether I will get along with someone after only speaking with them for a mere minute.
Finding out that my brother Michael had autism, only made matters worse. Now on top of the usual annoyance, I had to deal with people staring at us in every public place we went. Never mind that their child was throwing food and a temper tantrum because they didn't get the happy meal toy they wanted, lets all stare at the little boy who is humming to himself quietly, because that’s not normal. After a while me and my mother began to make a joke out of this and say incredulously as we stare back at the tantrum child "and they say our child has problems!"
Over the years Michael behaved much better. He learned to be patient and wait in lines, and to quietly wait for his food in a restaurant. I pitched in of course by taking care of him most of the time making myself the built in babysitter that most siblings of handicapped children eventually become. It was no easy task. Walking for the hundredth time around Wal-Mart while my mom spends four hours shopping was no picnic. Strolling through the grocery stored with eight year old who would occasionally reach out and pinch someone, or try to grab their drink or groceries was not easy to explain. All I could do was turn around and apologize as quickly as possible while slipping in that he’s handicapped. Usually they let it go once they heard those magic words and went on their way, but there where a few who would continue to stare at me as if we had previously planned to steal their bag of pretzels and make a break for it. As if I lied about my brother’s autism just to cover up his “bad” behavior because after all, he didn’t look handicapped. He wasn’t in a wheel chair or slumped over with a lost look in his eyes. He looked like a handsome, healthy seven year old brat. It was these people I hated most.
They were common. At the amusement parks, the stores, restaurants, parks, and especially the place me and my brother were about to go. One hot, early August day my mother needed to go see a doctor which meant only one thing: a waiting room full of glaring people. There was never anything to do in a waiting room but to either read the two year old magazines, dance to the elevator music, watch the most boring channel of news that happened to be on the TV, or stare into space. When we entered the local first care, I could see these were the stare into space kind. A few seconds after we were seated, Michael began to sing. Since he couldn’t talk, Michael’s version of singing was a open mouthed hum that only my family enjoyed since it was the only time we got to hear his beautiful voice. However, for somebody who had never heard it before it could only come off as being annoying.
Trying to persuade him to stop and be quieter, I gave him a juice box, which lasted a hot thirty seconds. My mother insisted that I go outside with him as that now half the waiting room was looking at us. I refused, feeling that it was far too hot to make us wait outside in the parking lot for an hour. Secretly though I also didn’t want the strangers in the waiting room to win. Still, I had my ways and was not going to let my brother go on annoying people. It was my nature to get him quiet as soon as possible. It took a lot of gentle persuasion but eventually fifteen minutes later Michael was quiet and my mother had finally gone in to see the doctor. Now I got the chance to leaf through a magazine while my brother quietly stimmed to himself. It was the best I could do but the people continued to stare. Even when I tried not to look up at them, I could feel their glares pierce through me, breaking my heart.
I could have only wished to get up the strength to look up at them and stare them in the eye. Just to say “He’s handicapped for gods’ sake! Can’t you just leave him alone?” would have been the greatest thing in the world. No, I was too meek and shy to ever do anything daring like that. I was always seen as the innocent girl when really I longed to be something else. I hated the people in this room. I though I had them all figured out.
Fate was out to prove me wrong that day. Just as I was furiously flipping through the pages of the magazine in order to blow off steam a woman from across the room was called in. Before she left the waiting room however, she swiftly dropped and envelope marked with the words “for you” underlined in my lap and ran off before I could even look up.
Unsure of what was inside and whether I should open it, I hastily ran outside with my brother. Then somehow holding his hand, the folded over envelop, and the diaper bag I ripped the top open so quickly that I tore the tissue paper thin letter inside. In horror I opened it up and saw a twenty dollar bill fall out of the tissue paper it had been wrapped up with. There was a note inside that read “I couldn’t help but admire your patience and love for your brother. You are a blessing to your family, I’m sure. Please treat yourself to something nice. You deserve it. There should be more people like you in this world.”
Speechless and dumbfounded I could only stuff the contents back into the envelope and sit on the curb in shock. It was certainly not the money that had made a difference in my mind. It was the words of that woman. The fact that somebody actually acknowledged the sacrifices, patience, and love it takes to be a sibling of a handicapped child where enormous. For once I was wrong, not all people are alike. There are people out there that do understand and do care.
Thinking back on that day gives me new hope. She said that there should be more people like me in the world, well, the same goes for her.
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