A Twelve Year Special Journey

May 12, 1996, Mother’s Day and coincidentally my mother’s birthday, was one of the most memorable days of my life. While preparing to attend the lunch party we were throwing my mom, I was jolted by a sudden spasm that told me an “unexpected” visitor was coming that day. My eldest son, not due to make his grand entrance until another two weeks down the road, had decided it was time for him to join our family.

Twelve years to this day, Ragu was born. Twelve years ago, I embarked on that journey called motherhood, and found out a little later that mine would be an even more “special” journey because two of my kids would turn out – well – special.

Few, I know, realize that Ragu is special. (In fact, by now, I’ve learned that special is a relative term, one that belongs to the eye of the beholder.) It took me a long time to realize that, and for years, I was lost in the jargon of development pediatricians, special education consultants and therapists. The development pediatrician said he was “normal”, but showed signs of hyperactivity and speech delays. The SPED consultant declared he was “normal” but had “autistic spots.” Everyone else refused to label him (which alternately elated and confused me) till one day, when he was 8, I saw his Individualized Educational Program (IEP) filled up by his homeroom teacher indicating his diagnosis as “autism.” I never knew homeroom teachers were supposed to make up their own diagnoses, but by then, I’ve learned to rise above labels, so I left it at that.

Ragu is a case who drives SPED consultants batty. Each time he would take a standardized test, the test administrator always ends up telling me that my son was the first to achieve that kind of score in the test. I have come to expect the same results and the amazement and awe of the specialists. His latest Psycho-Educational profile, taken when he was 10, pegged his cognitive and mathematical abilities at the level of a college student. He teaches his dad -- a numbers and computer freak who probably spent all of his teenage years playing video games – how to navigate RPG games. One day, he stunned his dad when he wrote a computer program which his dad claims they talked about as they brushed their teeth. As for me, I am this old woman whom he will sympathetically aid when handling anything with batteries on it.

Don’t ask about verbal abilities, though – his verbal abilities were equivalent to a six year old’s. In fact, I thought at that time that was too high. His six-year old brother, Jacob, was far more articulate than he was. I always knew that Ragu wasn’t much of a talker but that didn’t worry me, especially when at age 1, he knew the numbers 1 to 20. At 16 months, he knew the entire alphabet and his primary and secondary colors. That his only other words were “ma” and “da” worried me just a wee bit. I could communicate with him, and that was what mattered.

Of course, the nuns at DML Montessori -- who were initially impressed with this boy who knew the basics (by then he could count to 100) – did not think this way. They told me Ragu “was very mobile” and “restless”. Initially, they tried all known measures to control “the little supervisor” who refused to sit down, even delegating one nun to just follow him around. The nuns even stormed the heavens with prayers, just as I did, to get little Ragu to just sit down, but I guess God didn’t think it was time to slow down his little Energizer Bunny. After countless presentations and flag ceremonies wherein everybody cooperated except for the “supervisor” who explored like a goat out in the meadows, I just knew Ragu was different. Special, perhaps, but to a mom, a son is always special.

This realization would bring me to the world of special education and special needs in the Philippines. In the next few years, Ragu, his dad and I, would embark on a long journey full of joys and discoveries, frustrations and fears, all of which would only enlighten us and bring us closer together, and prepare us for something else – the arrival of his youngest brother, Isaac, who is severely autistic.

Last Saturday, we celebrated Ragu’s birthday with a simple dinner at TGI Friday’s. He happily devoured his burger and was pleasantly surprised when the boisterous birthday crew came with their tambourines to give him a birthday jig. We reminded him that next year, he would already be a teenager, and yes, he said, he was ready for that.

Happy birthday, Ragu!