One morning not long ago, I screeched into the carpool lane of our neighborhood middle school and hustled my always-late kid out the door, stopping for a moment to marvel at her brightly colored, striped knee socks. It was crazy sock day, the school had sent a flier home confirming it, but I wondered how many other eighth graders were wearing striped knee socks that day. None that I saw as I pulled away from the school.
In my rearview mirror, I watched Sophie hoist her giant backpack onto her tiny shoulders, bend to pull up her socks, and march off proudly. Sophie loves school. Not everything about it — she has her bad days like the rest of us — but for the most part, she is excited to make friends, learn new things, and even take tests. She’s a unicorn.
Thirteen years ago, when my baby was diagnosed with a genetic disorder I knew nothing about, I never, ever would have told you that I wished I could be Sophie – even for a day, just to see what it’s like. But now I find myself thinking that a lot.
After the first week of eighth grade, we had a meeting of the therapists, teachers, counselors and aide on Sophie’s “team.” She’s one of the first kids with Down syndrome to be completely mainstreamed at this public school. The biggest challenge so far, it seemed, was not that Sophie couldn’t keep up or didn’t understand what was going on. It was that she was throwing her hand in the air whenever any of her teachers asked a question.
“Please don’t call on her every time,” I said.
I could feel the relief around the table, even though I was assured that given the typical apathy of the eighth grade, it’s refreshing to have Sophie around.
I do get that. Sophie wears it all on her sleeve, including her heart. I had a crush on my eighth grade social studies teacher but God forbid anyone should have known.
Sophie, on the other hand, made up a cheer for her social studies teacher. Noticing that he looked like the type who might enjoy hiking, asked for his phone number so she could give it to her father, figuring the two might like to hike together.
“You know, you didn’t have to give her your phone number,” I told the teacher, cringing as I asked, “Has she done her cheer for you yet?”
“Every day!” he replied, grinning.
The other teachers looked a little jealous of him.
And me? I felt a little jealous of Sophie.
-Amy Silverman
Amy Silverman is a writer, editor, teacher and — most important — mother. Her daughter Sophie has Down syndrome.
Sophie is 13 and fully mainstreamed in the eighth grade in a public school in Tempe, Arizona, where she lives with Amy, her father Ray and big sister Annabelle, 15. Sophie is a cheerleader — both at school and with Special Olympics. She also studies ballet and drama and has appeared in performances with Center Dance Ensemble and Detour Company Theatre.
For many years, Amy has explored what it means to have Down syndrome in the 21st Century on her blog, girlinapartyhat.com. Amy has also written about Sophie (and a lot of other things) for New Times, the alternative newsweekly in Phoenix, where she is managing editor. In addition, Amy’s a contributor to KJZZ, the National Public Radio affiliate in Phoenix, and her work has appeared on the radio show This American Life, in the New York Times, Washington Post, salon.com and many other places. She co-teaches the long running workshop Mothers Who Write and co-curates a live reading series, Bar Flies, both in Phoenix. Amy’s first book, “My Heart Can’t Even Believe It: A Story of Science, Love, and Down Syndrome,” was published in Spring 2016 by Woodbine House. To learn more, visit myheartcantevenbelieveit.com
