He's Lucky to Have You
Stories > He's Lucky to Have You

By Ted Kuntz

"He's lucky to have you," said the man sitting in the chair at the end of the row. He'd been watching my son for the last few minutes as Josh navigated his way around the corner of the receptionist's desk to observe what she was doing there. I was busy looking in my wallet for my credit card to pay for the chiropractic session my son had just received.

I know the man meant well. His words were spoken with kindness and compassion. I understood what he was getting at. It takes only a brief glance to recognize that my son is different. It's not his physical appearance that gives it away. For the most part Josh doesn't look disabled. What causes the searching for a label is his unsteady gait, the saliva that runs continually off his lower lip, and his words - short, simple, and without connectives. "Who's that?" "What she doing?" It's the language of a two-year-old. The words become odd when paired with the body of a nineteen-year-old with whiskers growing on his chin.

What the man said is true. Josh is lucky to have me. I am in love with my son. I enjoy and appreciate who he is and the gifts he offers. Not everyone is that way. Not everyone can see his gifts. Not everyone is able to get past the parts of him that are disabled to see the parts of him that are lovely, even delightful. For the longest time I couldn't get past the disabled parts either. I kept wanting my son to be normal and healthy like he was before the medical intervention damaged him. I wanted the doctors to do something. Anything! Uncontrolled seizures were the last thing I wanted. It took me a while to recognize that seizing is now a part of who my son is. But the seizures are only a small part of Josh and not the whole of him.

I remember being encouraged to journal when Josh was very young and seizing many times each day. I started my writing with "7:00 am Josh seized". Then, "9:00 am Josh seized again". "11:00 am Josh seized". My mentor at the time read through my journal entries from the first week. "Hmmm. If your entries are accurate, it seems the only thing that happened in your week was that your son seized. Is that true? What happened between 7:00 and 9:00 am? What happened between 9:00 and 11:00 am?"

I had to admit that all kinds of things had happened but that my focus was only upon his seizures. "You're missing out on life," my mentor told me. "You're only seeing the seizures. There's lots more to Josh than seizures." I felt as though I had been reprimanded.

And so I understand people like the gentleman waiting in the chiropractor's office for his appointment. I understand when they only see Josh's disabilities. It takes a while to get to know Josh and see the other parts of him. The parts that are kind and loving, soft and playful, joyful and giving.

The truth is that I'm lucky to have Josh. Josh has been the most important teacher in my life. Josh has opened my eyes to all kinds of things I'd heard about but really didn't know much about. Josh forced me to deal with aspects of humanity like anger, sadness, forgiveness and acceptance. Also patience, simplicity, love, and respect for differences. I could read about these things in self-help books or magazines, but Josh helped me to find these things in my own heart.

Bonnie Sherr Klein, author of the book Slow Dance, writes, "disability allows the possibility for us to be our most human". I know I have become more human because of my relationship with my son. I know that my relationship with Josh has made me more sensitive to the plight of people who are marginalized and rejected because of their differences. I know that Josh has challenged me to recognize how gifts come in many shapes and sizes, and that the gifts of "being" are just as valuable as the gifts of "doing".

And so the truth of the matter is that we are both lucky. We are both lucky that we have each other! Each of us has grown immensely as a result of this relationship of ours. He is a better person because of knowing me and I am a better person because of knowing him. The best part is, I know Josh isn't special in this way. I know that all people have something valuable to offer and that their inability to contribute is most often due to our inability to see their gifts. But the world is changing. Today a man recognized the gifts I offer my son. Maybe tomorrow he will recognize the gifts my son offers me. And on that day we will celebrate all people everywhere and acknowledge their contributions to the good of us all.

Have Your Say