A boy with fetal alcohol syndrome tries to live as normal of a life as he possibly can. His mother tells her son's story.
Dontrae' Ri'chard is twelve years old, quite the little man about town.
Never mind that he is mentally disabled or has specific physical characteristics that make him open to stares or comments; he doesn't let his problems stand in his way.
His way of thinking is this: he's gotten this far, why stop now?
Dontrae' is my older child. He is my heart.
He was born with fetal alcohol syndrome because I made the mistake of drinking while pregnant; he is paying the price for my stupidity.
I feel horrible for doing this to him. My son, however, has a good life, a very good life. He may be slow to most people, but he's a lot better off than most people with FAS (fetal alcohol syndrome). He can talk, walk, learn: it just takes him longer.
Dontrae' is a kid who loves to live for the moment. He is always laughing, smiling, flitting from one spot to another like a bee. He's never still. At times he exhausts me; however, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Dontrae' has a great personality. He loves to tell others about Jesus Christ (he became saved when he was ten), go to church every Sunday, and read his Bible.
In fact, his Bible is his best friend: he carries it with him everywhere. Doesn't matter where he is, there it is. At school, church, to the restaurant when we go out to eat, even to play football.
I look at my son; I can't feel but a twinge of guilt because if I hadn't picked up that alcohol, maybe he wouldn't be the way he is.
I could have put that bottle of beer, that glass of wine down. I didn't have to drink the way I did. I was young and stupid then; if I could erase this part of time from my life, I would.
As a result of my poor choices, my son is stamped with a disability that isn't his fault. It was the fault of me, his mother.
I look at that part of my life: I see how my son's triumphed, and I can't help but feel joy in my soul. My son may not be up to par with most kids his age; he is still a great kid. I am blessed to have him as my son.
Dontrae' is a typical young pre-teen, even with his disabilities; to see him triumphing in life is something that I will always cherish.
It is sad for their are still people out there (expectant mothers)who still do not believe or accept the fact that liqour, drugs and tobacco can have an affect on their unborn children. At a recent party I went to a young lady who was six months pregnant sat there the whole evening smoking dope and cigarettes and drinking coolers My wife asked if she had any idea what she could be doint the girl looked at her and laughed saying she didn't believe all that...
Ought to be a law...
Three Thousand and One Hundred short stories, wow!!! I salute you poetess.
Dontrae's story isn't unique, a lot of children born from the Flower Revolution are the ones paying for that explosion of liberty, and their children today can thank their grandparents for the wacky genes that they are carrying.
I look at that part of my life: I see how my son's triumphed, and I can't help but feel joy in my soul. My son may not be up to par with most kids his age; he is still a great kid. I am blessed to have him as my son.
Blessed are those who realize that they are blessed, no matter what life has dished out to them.
In this case, the sins of the mother are visited onto the son ... through no fault of Dontrae's own, he has to live with the ramifications of her choice to drink. An excellent write, well done.
Congratulations on your 3,100th story. May your pen never run dry!
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