Pop Pop has no need to worry
And just like that, it’s gone. Summer is over.
School has begun and children are everywhere. I was reminded of that when my daughter, Jamie, called me on her way to work this past Monday, the first day of school. She was stuck at an intersection for over 20 minutes because of all the morning school buses and parents taking their children to school. We had a long talk. And why not? She wasn’t going anywhere at that moment.
Sitting at the light, Jamie was telling me how her daughter, Maddox (Baby Maddie to me), got on the school bus at 5:30 that morning, Maddie’s first day of middle school. She had a two-hour bus ride to the school only 13 miles away.
“That won’t work”, I said.
She has enough to deal with without having to sit on a bus for nearly four hours a day. She’s only 11 years old.
We got off the phone after she waited through several red, then green lights before it was her turn to turn.
Then it was my turn, my turn to conjure up memories from 37 years ago when she first got on a school bus. It wasn’t only hard for her mother and me; it was hard on 5-year-old Jamie.
See, she was born with a profound hearing loss, and was way behind the typical learning curve for a kindergartner. The elementary school didn’t want her to go to their public school. They thought it better she goes to a school for deaf children.
Only after several meetings with the school principal did we persuade him to let her be included. I am forever grateful to that man, not only because he allowed her to go to his school, but what he did afterwards. They arranged for daily speech therapy, taught her simple sign language and lip reading. She was fitted with powerful hearing aids, and, although she suffered the teasing of some of her schoolmates because of the quality of her speech, it made her determination blossom into an “I will show you” attitude.
One of the proudest moments of my life is the day she walked across the stage at Creighton University and accepted her Doctorate of Occupational Therapy and decided to work with disabled children.
As she sat in that traffic jam not going anywhere, while talking to her dad, I realized how far she had come.
But then my mind went back to Maddie, still sitting on that bus she got on two hours ago. I am worried about her. It was a cold, gray day in January 2010 when, only hours after being born, her mother, Jamie, was told her first child, Maddox, had Down syndrome. Two small holes in her tiny heart put into question whether she would make it through her first day.
That newborn peanut of a little girl fought like a warrior and made it through the night and into the morning. As each hour passed, it became clear that precious little girl was a fighter.
She got that from her mom.
For 11 years, Maddox has gone through thousands of hours of therapy, just as her mom did. She has grown into a remarkable young lady, but, on Monday morning as she sat on the bus, I couldn’t help but wonder how her first day of middle school would go.
I had dreaded the day for years, knowing how cruel some kids can be, just as they were to my daughter all those years ago.
Back then, bullying was not in the forefront as it is today, so I hold out hope that the wake of smiles Maddox leaves behind her wherever she goes becomes as infectious to others as it has been to me.
Today, we hear a lot about inclusion. And why not? It’s way past time. Being “different” should not invoke fear or hate. Instead, we should celebrate our differences.
Imagine a world if we were all the same: same color, same hair, same eyes, same height and weight. We are not an ant colony. We are the human race. We call ourselves civilized and we should rejoice in our differences. Heck, even my phone knows my face is different than yours. It only turns on after it scans my face.
If my phone can do it, surely we all can, too.
We could all be more like Maddie, seeing the good in everyone and everything.
But still, I will continue to worry about her. It’s what grandpas do, and what I have been doing for the last 11 years. And, even though it seems like yesterday, I know she is nearly grown up, evident by a phone call I missed a week ago Wednesday morning.
The caller left me a message I will save forever. It said, “PopPop, this is Maddox. Can you answer your phone please? I wanted to tell you I love you.”
Well, Baby Maddie, PopPop loves you, too, and, as your world grows larger this week, I am sure you’ll find many more who love you too.
Any advice for a worried PopPop? Share it with me at [email protected].
Greg Awtry is the former publisher of the Scottsbluff (Neb.) Star-Herald and Nebraska’s York News-Times. He is now retired and living in Hubbard Lake. Greg can be contacted at [email protected].
School has begun and children are everywhere. I was reminded of that when my daughter, Jamie, called me on her way to work this past Monday, the first day of school. She was stuck at an intersection for over 20 minutes because of all the morning school buses and parents taking their children to school. We had a long talk. And why not? She wasn’t going anywhere at that moment.
Sitting at the light, Jamie was telling me how her daughter, Maddox (Baby Maddie to me), got on the school bus at 5:30 that morning, Maddie’s first day of middle school. She had a two-hour bus ride to the school only 13 miles away.
“That won’t work”, I said.
She has enough to deal with without having to sit on a bus for nearly four hours a day. She’s only 11 years old.
We got off the phone after she waited through several red, then green lights before it was her turn to turn.
Then it was my turn, my turn to conjure up memories from 37 years ago when she first got on a school bus. It wasn’t only hard for her mother and me; it was hard on 5-year-old Jamie.
See, she was born with a profound hearing loss, and was way behind the typical learning curve for a kindergartner. The elementary school didn’t want her to go to their public school. They thought it better she goes to a school for deaf children.
Only after several meetings with the school principal did we persuade him to let her be included. I am forever grateful to that man, not only because he allowed her to go to his school, but what he did afterwards. They arranged for daily speech therapy, taught her simple sign language and lip reading. She was fitted with powerful hearing aids, and, although she suffered the teasing of some of her schoolmates because of the quality of her speech, it made her determination blossom into an “I will show you” attitude.
One of the proudest moments of my life is the day she walked across the stage at Creighton University and accepted her Doctorate of Occupational Therapy and decided to work with disabled children.
As she sat in that traffic jam not going anywhere, while talking to her dad, I realized how far she had come.
But then my mind went back to Maddie, still sitting on that bus she got on two hours ago. I am worried about her. It was a cold, gray day in January 2010 when, only hours after being born, her mother, Jamie, was told her first child, Maddox, had Down syndrome. Two small holes in her tiny heart put into question whether she would make it through her first day.
That newborn peanut of a little girl fought like a warrior and made it through the night and into the morning. As each hour passed, it became clear that precious little girl was a fighter.
She got that from her mom.
For 11 years, Maddox has gone through thousands of hours of therapy, just as her mom did. She has grown into a remarkable young lady, but, on Monday morning as she sat on the bus, I couldn’t help but wonder how her first day of middle school would go.
I had dreaded the day for years, knowing how cruel some kids can be, just as they were to my daughter all those years ago.
Back then, bullying was not in the forefront as it is today, so I hold out hope that the wake of smiles Maddox leaves behind her wherever she goes becomes as infectious to others as it has been to me.
Today, we hear a lot about inclusion. And why not? It’s way past time. Being “different” should not invoke fear or hate. Instead, we should celebrate our differences.
Imagine a world if we were all the same: same color, same hair, same eyes, same height and weight. We are not an ant colony. We are the human race. We call ourselves civilized and we should rejoice in our differences. Heck, even my phone knows my face is different than yours. It only turns on after it scans my face.
If my phone can do it, surely we all can, too.
We could all be more like Maddie, seeing the good in everyone and everything.
But still, I will continue to worry about her. It’s what grandpas do, and what I have been doing for the last 11 years. And, even though it seems like yesterday, I know she is nearly grown up, evident by a phone call I missed a week ago Wednesday morning.
The caller left me a message I will save forever. It said, “PopPop, this is Maddox. Can you answer your phone please? I wanted to tell you I love you.”
Well, Baby Maddie, PopPop loves you, too, and, as your world grows larger this week, I am sure you’ll find many more who love you too.
Any advice for a worried PopPop? Share it with me at [email protected].
Greg Awtry is the former publisher of the Scottsbluff (Neb.) Star-Herald and Nebraska’s York News-Times. He is now retired and living in Hubbard Lake. Greg can be contacted at [email protected].
