Mom! How did my mom survive rising me?
As an infant, I screamed and only slept two hours every twelve. I had a traumatic birth because I didn’t lay right in the birth canal. The doctor said he did the best with my head (that he could). I have a lot of bumps because they were trying to direct me properly. I was born screaming, with bright red hair and defected on the left hemisphere of my brain. When my parents brought me home, my sister wanted them to return me for another baby. So, this began a journey of struggle, joy, and resilience.
My father was a mechanic for the US Army, and my mother was a homemaker. Both were high school graduates and very intelligent. My father’s family were farmers and construction workers. His brothers all were college graduates working white collar jobs. My mother’s family were skilled laborers and musicians. Her sisters worked government jobs, but my mother had problems with reading and spelling. My parents are mechanically and artistically inclined, which I did inherit.
My older sister was always responsible even as a child, and her teachers loved her, but she was a bit hyper. My younger brother was the normal, sweet baby. He slept and ate a lot. My mom thought there may have been something wrong. She kept taking him to his doctor. The doctor reassured her that he was just a normal baby and her first two were hyperactive. Early on, my mom knew I was different. I was the left-handed, red-haired, hard-headed, middle child. She knew her hands would be full.
As an infant, I screamed and slept very little. At just six months, I stood up and then ran by the end of the week. One evening, I tried sleeping standing up. Every time I fell, I would scream. My mom tirelessly looked after me and my siblings. She took me to specialists to find out what was wrong. Finally, we ended up at Kennedy Krieger at Johns Hopkins. After a lot of testing, the head of child neuropsychiatry told my parents to institutionalize me, because I would never learn. My mom decided against this recommendation. This began a journey of exuberance, estrangement, and perseverance.
My sister and I had a love/hate relationship for most of my life. We shared a room, and this was a battleground. I would pull her head through the bars of my crib. My parents moved the crib to the other side of the room; I rolled it across to get to her. They took the wheels off; I bounced the crib across the room. Nothing seemed to stop me and my headstrong ways.
My mom’s life was demanding, even grueling, with my endless energy and activities. Standing in the corner became my mom’s go-to punishment. I hated standing in the corner. I could not move. It seemed like an endless torture. My mom knew that was the best way to deter me from my troubled ways. One corner-time, my mom let me out early, but I told her that I wanted to stay in the corner. She got mad. I told her my nose was pointy from standing in the corner. I told her I would design a round house so no other child would have to suffer standing in the corner.
Not only was I hyperactive but I had many learning difficulties with spelling, reading, and writing. When I entered elementary school, the public school system had no special education assistance. They chose to put me in a special school. My mom had to fight at every IEP meeting. She established the first support group for parents with children with learning disabilities in that county. She fought against people with much higher educational status, but her battles allowed me to be the first mainstreamed student in Carroll County Public Schools. I was held back twice, but I worked hard and received a high school diploma. It wasn’t easy, because I was the target of bullying by students, parents, teachers, and the other bullied children. My mom was there inexhaustibly working against the system so I would be educated.
Because of her selflessly hard work, I went on to college and earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from University of Maryland Baltimore County and a master’s degree in Fine Arts from Maryland Institute College of Art. I am a fine artist that has exhibited work throughout the United States.
Without my mom fighting for me, I am not sure that I would be here. My mom fought to keep me from fatally hurting myself. One day, she was watching me with a rope swing with a loop. I put my leg in the loop and swung, then my arm and swung. Finally, I put my head in the loop and almost hung myself. She ran out and rescued me even though I was a hard child. That is a mother’s love. I don’t know how my mother survived those years, but I know that she is a big reason that I did!
My mom…
I didn’t always like the things my mom did for me growing up, especially standing in the corner. She gave up a lot to be sure I would be educated. When a head of the neuropsychiatry department recommended that institutionalization was best, my mom said no. Undeterred in her mission to see that I got the best education possible, she went against people much more highly educated and with greater status than herself. Constantly, educators and other professionals were completely against her goals for my education, but she kept on pushing through the special education glass ceiling of main streaming. Her fight for me wasn’t easy on our family; it caused strains with siblings and my father. Even though she was not a follower of Christ, He used her, like the many other non-believers before, for His plan. Without my mom, I am not sure where I would be, but all this was the story God wanted for me.
My heart is heavy for the moms in Ukraine; they face a much bigger fight then my mom and I, huddling for safety in bomb shelters, while others around them call their children monsters. The world has been turned upside down and backwards for these children, their beloved pre-school shutdown, their teachers, and therapists gone, their senses on overload, and their family and friends separated. Their moms are just trying to hold onto them and keep them safe. I can’t even imagine. Please pray for Ukraine.