You Remind Me Of My Son

This entry is from Linc’s dad Sam.


For those of you who don’t know, I am a waiter. I work at the Hula Hut. It’s on the lake just a mile or so from downtown Austin. Last night I had a large party come in and sit in my section. As they milled around figuring out who would sit where, I noticed one of them had some very familiar features. She was thirty-ish with almond shaped eyes, thick muscles at the base of her neck, and she walked with a lilt I am working every day to eradicate in my little boy. Her name was Kim. She had Down syndrome.

I know it seems odd, but this was difficult for me. I was excited to have the opportunity to interact with an adult with DS, to catch a brief, if hypothetical, glimpse into my son’s future. But I also felt very awkward. Not in dealing with Kim, she was fun and polite, but in broaching the subject of Lincoln. I am not known for easily becoming tongue-tied, and I am never ashamed to talk about him, but I just didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Uh, hi. I know that you have been publically tortured and discriminated against your whole life because you wear your diagnosis on your face. I know for some reason you and your whole community are still considered comedic fair game for jabs and ridicule, therefore I am sure going into a crowded public place like this probably terrifies you. I know that you have struggled to achieve the simplest milestones past which others easily sail. But I have a two year old son who’s in the same boat as you, so I’m one of the good guys, ok? We’re cool. Really.”

I don’t know why, but it all seems rude and contrived and inappropriate. Just because I have a son with DS doesn’t mean that I have a clue what it must be like to have DS. It kind of seems to me like the medical equivalent to saying, “Some of my best friends are black, or gay, or Jewish.”

The truth is that, no matter how botched my introduction, I am sure they all would have loved the chance to share their impressions and some sorely learned lessons. They were a fun group and they would have laughed and ooh-ed and aah-ed at pictures of my little man (how could you not?). But I just didn’t know how to sneak it into the conversation.

I guess I was kind of scared to try.

Liz tells me that people in the DS community suggest using innocuous phrases like, “You remind me of my son,” or “Your eyes look just like my little boy’s.” Maybe next time I’ll try that. But for today, I am regretting not telling Kim all about Linc. I bet he would have made her smile like he does everyone else.

-Sam