A young teenaged boy writes about his uncle Mortie, who has Down's syndrome.
I have an uncle who is not like most. He is not like most grown men because he was born mentally retarded and he has the mind of a five-year-old little boy, even though he is nearly 35 years of age.
My uncle Mortimer (Mortie) Haskell is my dad's youngest brother, and he lives with us. He was born with something called Down's syndrome, which means he was born with an extra chromosome, and this extra chromosome caused him to be mentally retarded. He is short and round, like a beach ball, and he has stubby fingers and toes, and his eyes are uptilted, giving him the appearance of a small Buddha. His grey/brown hair is fine and rather sparse, and he has a lisp when he talks. He also has heart problems, and if he gets upset or overly excited, his heart races, and he gets chest pains. It is up to us not to overstimulate him, or his heart will act up.
Uncle Mortie likes to pretend he is a cowboy, and he will always wear a fake holster around his round waist, and he will usually have a cowboy hat sitting atop his head. He also likes to ride his "horse", which is really a broomstick without the broom on the end. He also likes to fingerpaint and draw, and he loves to watch "Bugs Bunny" on tv. (Porky Pig is his favorite, and he can do a rather good imitation of Porky Pig..."T-T-T-That's ALL, folks!") Uncle Mortie also loves to eat "fried chinny" (chicken) or hot dogs, and he loves going to McDonald's, so he can see "the funny clown". Another thing Uncle Mortie loves to do is go to the mall with us.
At times, I wish I could hang out with my friends, but having Uncle Mortie around often prevents that, and I often have to "Mortie-sit", which can be a pain. Uncle Mortie acts worse than my six-year-old sister, Wren, at times, and he can throw a temper tantrum if he doesn't get his own way. Often we end up having to do what Uncle Mortie wants instead of what WE want, and it can be a big drag. People often stare or make fun of my uncle, and then I have to defend him, and that is NEVER much fun.
Uncle Mortie works at a sheltered workshop for handicapped people, and every Friday he goes to get his "paycheck" ($45/50 a pop), which is always a big deal to him. He then goes to the bank and tells everybody there that the check is his, and now he has "dollars". He sorts pieces at his job, and he works with other handicapped people. He loves his job, and he loves his co-workers and his boss, Boss. (His boss is named Charley, but all the employees call him "Boss".) He is very happy at his job. (He has worked at New Horizons for about a year now. He works five days a week, Monday through Friday.)
Sometimes Uncle Mortie gets sick when one least expects it, and several times he has had to go to the hospital, in an ambulance, because his heart acts up, and he gets chest pains and has trouble breathing; and this is always a worrisome time in our lives because we are sure he is going to die on us, and we know that he won't live as long as say, Dad or Mom, will. He sometimes wears oxygen at night when he is at home, and one day we are waiting for the bottom to fall out, when he will get sick and then end up dying on us. He has always had a very bad heart, and he can't do too much, or he will get sick.
The worst thing about having an uncle like Uncle Mortie is when people stare at him or make fun of him by calling him "Dummy", or else they will tease me about him, and then I get upset and want to get into a fight. They don't understand what it is like, and for one thing, I bet if they had an uncle like mine, they wouldn't be thinking twice of teasing others. This is when I wish Uncle Mortie would disappear off the face of the earth and we could return to our "old" way of life, before Uncle Mortie came and disrupted everything. (Uncle Mortie came to live with us when the group home he was at closed down, and he's now been with us for about three years now.)
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I have an uncle who is not like most. He is not like most grown men because he was born mentally retarded and he has the mind of a five-year-old little boy, even though he is nearly 35 years of age.
