October is Down Syndrome Awareness Month. As you may know, T.S. Poetry Press published a memoir: Sun Shine Down—called a “jewel [that] rises to the top” of the category of Down syndrome memoirs. Yes, we have an interest in bringing beauty to light, regarding this life reality.
Throughout October, we will feature poetic and artistic looks into the experiences of those who live with Down syndrome in one way or another. Today’s fiction (or is it?) feature is a reprint from The Unknown Contributor.
Lunch at Pizza Hut
In my dream I am sitting in Pizza Hut because that is where I first saw her. She wanders over to my table with her big blue eyes locked on mine. She has curly brown hair… curls… rare for a child with Down syndrome. She holds her baby doll up and asks if they can sit with me.
“I don’t want to be your mother, ” I blurt out.
She slides into the seat and looks at me with surprise.
“Why not?” she asks.
I suddenly feel guilty and defensive. “92 percent of mothers just like me don’t want to be your mother, ” I answer foolishly.
“Why not?” She repeats her question.
“Well, because you are not as smart as other kids, ” I begin.
She cuts me off with a song, “a, b, c, d, e, f, g…” After it is over she continues, “Your shirt is blue. I know that and so I am too smart.”
I thought she was four or five years old but now I see she has a gap where a bottom tooth has gone missing. This must make her more like six.
“I think you will cost more, ” I tell her.
As if she is reading my mind she says, “I don’t wear diapers anymore. Those are for babies.” To prove this fact, she lifts up her baby doll and shows me its diapered bottom.
“You might get sick.”
“I already was sick, ” she answers. “See?” she says, as she pulls her tee-shirt up over her face to reveal a faint scar running vertically down her whitish-pink chest.
“Did that hurt?” I wonder aloud.
“I don’t remember. My dad says it hurt him real bad, ” she answers, her small voice muffled by the cotton shirt.
“Put your shirt down, ” I say, and she does.
“You might grow up to be ugly.” I know this might hurt her feelings but I have to say it.
“All grown ups are pretty.” She laughs, “Except for the boy ones. Some of them are stinky.”
“I mean, you might drool or your tongue might protrude, ” I clarify.
She sticks her tongue out at me. “My tongue is pretty, ” she says, “and I only stick it out when I am tired.”
“You might die.” I feel bad saying this but she needs to know the truth.
Her answer is soft. “If you won’t be my mommy, I am already dead.”
We eat in silence for a while. When my slice is finished, I tell her that I must be going now.
“Will I see you again?” she asks.
She has worn me down. “Yes, ” I tell her, “I think so.”
Featured photo by Marco Raaphorst, Creative Commons, via Flickr. In-post photo from The Unknown Contributor, with her daughter Kimani. Kimani lives with Down syndrome and a severe brain injury. Story by The Unknown Contributor.
“Gillian Marchenko’s Sun Shine Down is a moving account of the birth of her third daughter, Polina. She describes her depression after Polly’s birth and her own difficulty in loving her child. Beautifully written, this memoir is hopeful without being glib.”
—Susan Olasky, World magazine
- Down Syndrome Awareness Month: Uncovering Pure Joy - October 29, 2013
- Down Syndrome Awareness Month: Lunch at Pizza Hut - October 1, 2013
- Poets & Writers Toolkit: Mind Mapping - March 6, 2013
Maureen Doallas says
gone missing
a doll with big blue eyes
curls into you
asks what is gone
missing
you think to answer
my dream
but her eyes reading
yours
hurt now
Maureen Doallas says
It’s like this
truth sits at your table
slides to your tongue
eyes of your small child
answer the question
other mothers just like you
repeat, need to know
to not feel so blue as you
you want to be gone now
but the silence holds hurt
your soft voice muffled
and now gone missing
TUC says
Oh my, you are making me teary-eyed. That is really beautiful.
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you.
L. L. Barkat says
I love the smile and how she is clearly loving the loving.
This piece made me cry the very first time I read it, and the second time, and then last night when I read it to my girls I cried again. It’s just poignant-winsome (oddly enough)-heartstealing.
Donna says
I’m speechless.
Been trying for a few days to respond…
but I’m still speechless.
lynndiane says
“If you won’t be my mommy then I’m already dead” is a powerful line. This post by TUC reveals the undeniable truth that DS children are irresistibly precious gifts to be received.
Connie Mace says
Stomach lurching at ““If you won’t be my mommy then I’m already dead.” The woe-filled truth of this in the 92% is beyond sad…
L. L. Barkat says
what i love about this piece is the way she sideways admits she is part of the 92%, though one wonders if it isn’t really 100%. That’s what the piece does. It places us in the uncomfortable position of perhaps being in the 92%, causing us to wonder what the truth really is (even if the 8% don’t act on it, what is their truth?)
Fiction is so amazing this way.
And then it brings us back around. Because of course we can’t help but love this child who cannot fathom what the heck the 92% (100%?) are thinking. So we also become the child when she says that final line, because all of us wanted a mommy who wanted us, and in that moment we step outside of the 92% (100%?) adult mindset and into the other-world of those who see.
It is a completely wonderful piece of fiction. We end up in both roles. And maybe we end up changed.
Deborah Batterman says
If it isn’t fiction, the device of a dream brings just the perfect distance to capture the triumph of pure innocence over steely resistance.
Gillian Marchenko says
Wow. Stunning.
SimplyDarlene says
nothing is ever as easy as finishing a slice and going.
thank you, TUC.
blessings.
Diana Trautwein says
So.Lovely. And how did I miss this memoir?? On the list.