Graduation Day #2 - Mighty Joe
Seven weeks after Joe was born we walked into the Pediatric ICU of our local children’s hospital and received what felt like a lifetime supply of bad news.
Brain injury.
Developmental delays.
A long list of things he might never do.
The experts were compassionate, but the message was pretty clear: Don't get your hopes up.
If you've been reading The Mango Times for any length of time, you know Joe has spent the last eighteen years treating those predictions as loose suggestions.
Joe wasn't supposed to see. The damage to that section of his brain was too much. But Joe sees.
Joe wasn't supposed to walk. He would have seizures and he would lack balance and coordination. Then he started walking and running and riding a bike. All of it.
Joe wasn't supposed to communicate much. To that I have to laugh out loud! Defying medical predictions he has spent the last 18 years making his wants, needs, opinions, and snack preferences crystal clear.
There was even the time he jumped in Pop Pop’s golf cart and attempted to become the youngest unlicensed driver in the family. The golf cart and the side of my house barely recovered. Thankfully, that dream ended before we made it to the DMV.
The point is that Joe has always had a habit of surprising people. My wife is a realist. She’s always been aware of Joe’s limitations and as his caregivers she wanted us to be positioned for most likely outcomes, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t let him try everything he wanted to try or have high expectations for him.
Which brings us to last week. Joe finished high school with a Certificate of Completion. Call it whatever you want. Joe graduated.
I’m not the kind of dad who carries a cowbell or blows an airhorn at graduation, but I was the dad who listened to over 500 names being read over the public address system knowing that the majority of those graduates have had the privilege of typical brains with the ability to move easily through the school system.
As my wife and I stood at the graduation ceremony, here's what I was really thinking about while Joe’s name was called and he crossed that stage. I wasn't thinking about graduation. I was thinking about those few weeks we waited for him to be released from a hospital. All of the neurology appointments we attended. The speech and vision therapy sessions we went to for years. The meetings where any of the multiple specialists regularly used words like “anomaly” or "limitations."
I was thinking about all the miles between what we were told at the start of Joe’s life and where we ended up. Graduation means different things for different kids. For many of the students I saw in that stadium, graduation marks the beginning of college, or trade school, a career, military service, or even a gap year to figure out what’s next.
For Joe, it marks something equally important. It was a reminder to me of how far he has come from all the expectations that were handed to him when he was a baby. He has spent 18 years becoming the unique kid that life and family and school has shaped him to become. Like most kids, he is a little bit of everything: Funny. Affectionate. Determined. Stubborn. Joyful. Super Frustrating. Loved.
The certificate he received is just part of his story which has been written, erased, edited and rewritten for 18 years. This is a story with victories and setbacks and a ton of persistence from a family, teachers, aides, therapists and friends who were never content with a diagnosis. It’s also a remarkable story of a kid who kept doing the next thing even when the path looked very different than everyone expected.
What’s next? Who knows? Maybe college. Maybe something else. But for now, it’s a big congratulations to Mighty Joe. Hey buddy! Do me a favor? Keep treating the predictions as loose suggestions.
Quietly making noise,
Fletch
