My Sister, the Author

Our book is published today. THE NORTH SIDE OF DOWN joins the select few books actually written by an author (or co-author) with Down's syndrome.

Amanda has long been a writer at heart.  When she was a baby, she used to climb the stairs and sit with me in my bedroom while I wrote page after page on spiral-bound note paper.  I wrote and illustrated hundreds of pages of horse stories while my patient companion was content to just sit cross-legged on the bed near my desk, watching me or quietly coloring or just waiting.

At that time, I didn't realize the impact this was having.  Amanda was just a baby then. I graduated, moved away to Alaska and then the western states.  In the meantime, Amanda grew up illiterate.  Finally, when she was around 20 years old, I had moved back to Michigan and was spending lots of time with her.  I sat with her in the big gold chair in the living room looking at the back of an Eddie Rabbitt album.  She was a huge country music fan.  I was reading the words to, "I Love a Rainy Night."

She was attentive as always, and I began pointing out the letters and sounding them out.  When we reached the end of each line, we would sing it.

Perhaps it was the simplistic repetition of the song, but I thought she was catching on.

Later, watching a "Hooked on Phonics" infomercial, I told my then-husband, "This might work for Amanda.  They use music, see?"

He wanted no part of spending $200 on that program.  So, I saved my money and ordered one, and brought it home on my next trip North, along with a couple of Dr. Seuss children's books.  Mom and Dad wisely sent the program to Amanda's school.  It not only helped Amanda. but other kids in her special ed class learned to read, too.  When I asked Dad about her progress later, Dad said, "Yes, she is learning, but it's going to be limited."

I will never forget the first time Amanda stumbled through, "Green Eggs and Ham."  I was in tears.  She was 21 years old by then, and opening a whole new door for herself.

From that point on, the household exploded with paper and notebooks.  Amanda was filling every spiral-bound notebook in sight, practicing her writing in her shaky, angular cursive hand.  She copied pages of old paperbacks.  Eventually she began writing her own thoughts; page after page.

A writer was born.

When finally she began journaling after our Mom's death, I asked her, "How would you like to write a book with me?  We can write about our mother, and Dad, and our experiences with the family."

She loved the idea.  We pored over our story, building it one page at a time, editing and discussing and reading to each other.  We lost Mom, and we cried and wrote.  We lost Dad, and we cried and wrote some more.  Our siblings battled over Amanda's guardianship, and we wrote on in determination.  We were partners in a combined effort.  This was our project; our journey.  When I asked her if she was ready to become a published author, she said, "I cannot wait!  I. CAN. NOT. WAIT!"

So the little girl who quietly sat by has become a literary force in her own right.  Unencumbered by her disability, she forges onward.

"Limited," indeed!  ...If Dad could see her now.

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I Still Have One Wish to Make; A Special One For You

It's my understanding that most people who train horses for therapy work use minis.  It makes perfect sense -- it has to be so much more convenient to haul a mini around.  But I have long been interested in having my horse Clifford work with people with special needs.

In this regard, I'm lucky to have a friend like Beth Duman.  A biologist and behaviorist who specializes in the study of wolves (Could it be any more ironic that she lives in Howell, Michigan?), she has now been instrumental in helping two of my dreams to come true.

1)  To meet a live wolf up close and personal.  (Which happened several years ago when she was lecturing at Wolf Park in Battleground, IN)

and 2)  To have my  horse, Clifford, do therapy for people with disabilities, specifically people with autism.

Beth has been volunteering with her dog Lacey for about 7 years at Pathway School in Howell.  All I had to do was mention to her in passing that I was trying to get Clifford into a facility for the disabled, and she said, "I might be able to help you with  that."

"Just one moment!  I have to pose for my paparazzi!"

A week later, Clifford was walking through the door of the school, where we were greeted by an excited bevy of staff with cameras.  Clifford, as is his wont, stopped and posed right inside the door as soon as he saw all the cell phones aimed at him.  A bigger equine ham, there never was.

Then we marched down the hallway into the classroom, where we greeted group after group of kids from a variety of different classes.  Clifford was in his element.  We began each brief session by allowing him to walk up to each student, just like he does in the library.  It was the same type of greeting.  If the child shied away, he simply moved along to the next one.  These kids, however, were different and he seemed to immediately pick up on this.  Many of them were in wheelchairs.  Every time I have ever seen him around a wheelchair, he goes right for the person's legs.

He did that again today -- nuzzling and touching them gently.  He blew softly in one little boy's hair.  He touched another's fingers.  Some of the kids were non-responsive, and with those, he paused a little longer until he got some kind of reaction.  If they seemed fearful, he moved away.  His manner was completely gentle and kind.

One of the teachers asked me, "Did you teach him to do this?"

I shook my head.  "This is all him."

All I did was stand back and let the lead rope play out.  As Clifford approached each child, the staff members would say the child's name, enthusiastically, in unison, excited and laughing.

Clifford painted a couple of pictures and did some tricks for the kids, but the heart of the visit really seemed to be the close contact.  One girl ran through the door and grabbed him in a big hug.  He took it all in stride. He crunched candy canes and made cordial nose touches with Lacey.

It became obvious to me that the teachers were very emotionally invested in these kids.  They laughed.  They cried.  They took pictures.  Beth told me that there were things happening, remarkable things, with some of the children, but of course I had no way of knowing what they were.  I was just letting Clifford work his magic.  I hope to find out more later, about our impact on the school.

After about an hour and a half, Clifford had made contact with some fifty or sixty kids.  We were ready to wrap it up.  We loaded him back into the trailer and headed home, driving through the slush and sleet.  We stopped at his favorite store, Tractor Supply, and went in to get him a bag of grain.  He came into the store with us.  I walked him back to the service desk, to meet with the manager about a potential book signing there.  While we discussed it, Clifford revealed TSC as his virtual "home" by falling asleep standing next to me!

It was a good day.  Merry Christmas Clifford.  Thanks for all you do.