Artist Michael Jurogue Johnson has Down's Syndrome [see link]. Would that we were all as talented! {But we are all special, right? As for children. . .words cannot convey!!}

'Special,’ Then There’s Amy

Every developmental teacher hears it.
“I don’t know how you do what you do.”
“Takes a special kind of person, ask me.”
Stunned, you hear yourself stammer
“A child is a child! Funny, sad, tender,
stubborn, fresh, tough, and utterly he/mself
Amazing! Amazing! You have no idea
of the laughter you miss. Transforming it is to
cry one minute with a child whose brain and limbs
exhaust and frustrate, and the next, delight
as one in a bubble, a balloon or a setting sun.
I could weep to think you may never feel
the warmth in a smile has to be fought for
because muscles and nerves balk or aren’t there.
Can’t picture never teaching someone to play
as s/he teaches you lessons you will never forget.
Hate that you won’t get to see a finger twitch
after lying still years, or a “paralyzed” tongue lift
to swallow. God, not to get the thrill of hearing “ball”
break awful silence. But this is all general!
Let me tell you about. . .Amy is perfect.

To protect her privacy, say Amy B.
Now how am I going to make you see
her? Her, not the skin she was given.
Her, not the life she happens to live.
Her! Not an accident of birth with one half
splotched wine, one refusing to bend.
Her! The way she crows with happiness
the second she spies a friend. The way
she throws back her head when she’s tickled.
The way the baby-fine hair her mother brushes
morning, noon and night haloes
her trusting face. How she tries. God,
how she tries. Lips won’t meet, brain
won’t grow. But does her spirit fly ?!
GO, girl, GO. (Look up soul, you’ll see.)
Speaking of sight, doctors say she is losing
the little bit she has. Think
the shine goes out of her eyes, think again.
All you have to do is look through our eyes:
her teachers’, her therapists’, her mothers,’
her fathers’. Friends she makes without having
to try. Give you a rush you will not believe.
Beauty is that rare. A m a z i n g.

Alas, you learn not to hope too much
for your words to be heard (poor as they are).
For more than idle interest, and words
that do not have to be minced.
Unwincing smiles, and never being eyed
for sly disgust over “stupid” and “deformed.”
Those who will never “fit.” Can only “embarrass,”
and will never “contribute.” “Don’t look right.
and sound. . . “you know.” Note they avoid “crippled.”
Lean on “handicapped” and “special,” save “spaz ed”
for home (though they do wish They wouldn’t take
wouldn’t grow up to take all the parking,
and the cost is a crime. Schools overcrowded
as it is. Et ceter-ra ra ra

But maybe some questioners will get lucky.
Only one Amy, but we know a child or two
who loves to make new friends.
Doesn’t have to be anyone special.
They are just kids.
Like us?

A m a z i n g


(c)Phyllis Jean Green, 2004