I always wanted two kids. I grew up in a two kid family. It provided the chance to have a boy and a girl, if genetics and luck allowed it. It was just part of my life plan. That is, until I had my first child with Rachel. One child seemed like a fine number after surviving a colicky newborn. Rachel was not convinced. Her life plan included a sibling for our son, who so clearly relished every opportunity to play with other kids. She wanted a playmate for him when he was young. She wanted a him to live in a household where the world did not revolve around only his needs as he grew up. She wanted him to have someone to share the burden of taking care of us when we got older. It was a compelling case that took about three years to make. The plan was set. But, as they say, the best laid plans often go astray.
We welcomed Nate into our family, and watched with satisfaction as Isaac took so naturally to the role of big brother. He had an extraordinary ability to keep calm as Nate shrieked and bellowed in the back seat with him on car rides. He was gentle and kind. In that first year, before we were certain of Nate's special needs, much of what we hoped for was happening. Isaac needed to adjust to a world where his brother's schedule was factored into the family calendar. He got to see someone else be doted on and given gifts. Typical stuff for new siblings, and things Isaac handled relatively well.
Rachel and I knew Nate had special needs far before Isaac ever did, and it weighed heavily on Rachel. Not only was Isaac going to miss out on having the playmate we wanted for him, but now he was going to have to take care of his brother as he got older. He would likely never have the confidant she envisioned. I worried that Isaac would eventually be embarrassed by his brother's odd behavior and feel the need to make fun of him when with friends or at school.
Isaac never had an inkling of our master plan for him, and we certainly did not share our growing concerns about Nate. For him, Nate was his brother. A brother that was capable of certain things, and incapable of others. He was a brother that liked to wrestle, watch cartoons and often made all of us laugh. Nate was also a brother that might break his things, scream at him for no apparent reason, and annoy him and his friends when they were trying to play Xbox. He was his little brother.
Nate knew nothing of our plan or his limitations either. He saw a boy who wanted to play with him and hug him. He saw a boy who he desperately wanted to impress or make laugh. He saw a boy who brought other boys to the house that laughed when Nate did something funny. Nate wanted to do what Isaac could do. He wanted to be like his big brother.
Siblings have no ability to choose one another. They just are. We have all seen brothers and sisters that are fit together like hand in glove, and we have seen brothers and sisters that cannot occupy the same space without touching a nerve. These phenomenons are curiously caused by the same thing: shared genes and shared experiences. Siblings know each other in a way nobody else does.
The language barrier has made it difficult to assess Nate's feelings for Isaac. He often has trouble understanding what is going on around him, and lashes out at Isaac in frustration. He will accuse his brother of being, "Not nye!" (punctuated by a pointer finger disapprovingly wagged in his face) for transgressions ranging from Isaac offering to help him with a problem on an iPod game to events that have nothing to do with Isaac like Mom or Dad asking Nate to come to the dinner table. Isaac takes his fair share of abuse from Nate.
I see how hard it can be for Isaac to give and not receive with Nate. There are many moments of fun and happiness, but not a lot of clarity. One such moment came recently when we welcomed a new member to our family. Nate's class at Sunday school was asked to bring a doll in for a baby naming. Nate eagerly brought his baby doll to class, and emerged eager to share the baby's naming certificate. On it, the name read, "Mike Isaac." Or, in Nate speak, "my Isaac."
Nate can't say much. But the words he chooses speak volumes. It does not matter that he has trouble talking with his brother. Plenty of siblings have trouble communicating. What transcends language is action and intent.
Nate trusts Isaac. He loves Isaac, and Isaac loves Nate. They make each other better people, and us, better parents. Their relationship will continue to grow and change. They will be drawn together and pushed apart, but they will always be brothers.
We welcomed Nate into our family, and watched with satisfaction as Isaac took so naturally to the role of big brother. He had an extraordinary ability to keep calm as Nate shrieked and bellowed in the back seat with him on car rides. He was gentle and kind. In that first year, before we were certain of Nate's special needs, much of what we hoped for was happening. Isaac needed to adjust to a world where his brother's schedule was factored into the family calendar. He got to see someone else be doted on and given gifts. Typical stuff for new siblings, and things Isaac handled relatively well.
Rachel and I knew Nate had special needs far before Isaac ever did, and it weighed heavily on Rachel. Not only was Isaac going to miss out on having the playmate we wanted for him, but now he was going to have to take care of his brother as he got older. He would likely never have the confidant she envisioned. I worried that Isaac would eventually be embarrassed by his brother's odd behavior and feel the need to make fun of him when with friends or at school.
Isaac never had an inkling of our master plan for him, and we certainly did not share our growing concerns about Nate. For him, Nate was his brother. A brother that was capable of certain things, and incapable of others. He was a brother that liked to wrestle, watch cartoons and often made all of us laugh. Nate was also a brother that might break his things, scream at him for no apparent reason, and annoy him and his friends when they were trying to play Xbox. He was his little brother.
Nate knew nothing of our plan or his limitations either. He saw a boy who wanted to play with him and hug him. He saw a boy who he desperately wanted to impress or make laugh. He saw a boy who brought other boys to the house that laughed when Nate did something funny. Nate wanted to do what Isaac could do. He wanted to be like his big brother.
Siblings have no ability to choose one another. They just are. We have all seen brothers and sisters that are fit together like hand in glove, and we have seen brothers and sisters that cannot occupy the same space without touching a nerve. These phenomenons are curiously caused by the same thing: shared genes and shared experiences. Siblings know each other in a way nobody else does.
The language barrier has made it difficult to assess Nate's feelings for Isaac. He often has trouble understanding what is going on around him, and lashes out at Isaac in frustration. He will accuse his brother of being, "Not nye!" (punctuated by a pointer finger disapprovingly wagged in his face) for transgressions ranging from Isaac offering to help him with a problem on an iPod game to events that have nothing to do with Isaac like Mom or Dad asking Nate to come to the dinner table. Isaac takes his fair share of abuse from Nate.
 |
| Mike Isaac, enjoying an afternoon nap in the Sun |
Nate can't say much. But the words he chooses speak volumes. It does not matter that he has trouble talking with his brother. Plenty of siblings have trouble communicating. What transcends language is action and intent.
Nate trusts Isaac. He loves Isaac, and Isaac loves Nate. They make each other better people, and us, better parents. Their relationship will continue to grow and change. They will be drawn together and pushed apart, but they will always be brothers.
No comments:
Post a Comment