At first, I didn't give this assignment much thought, after all, my degree was to be in special education. But, after a while, I started to ask questions about the Sprague School For Crippled Children. Why, for example, couldn't most crippled children attend regular school. Well, it turns out that they could.
I learned that the Sprague School was for severely crippled children. OK. Then, I learned that actually many of the children at the school were undergoing prolonged treatments at city hospitals for a range of illnesses. These students were shuttled back and forth from hospital to school. OK. Then, I learned that some of the children at the school were terminally ill and required special medical procedures and that this school had a physician and several nurses and aides on the school staff. I really hadn't heard of this kind of school before.
As the days drew closer to my teaching assignment at Sprague, I became more and more apprehensive. One day I thought that I could do the job. The next day, I was close to anxiety attacks and sure that I couldn't. What kind of a school was this? Didn't these poor kids need a Mother Theresa type? This surely wasn't me. I spoke to my advisor about my concerns. He said that I'd be fine. I wasn't so sure.
The day arrived and I was led immediately to my first class, an intermediate level math class. As I entered the classroom, every fear I had rose to the surface. Two kids were actually in hospital beds with tubes in their arms. Several were in wheelchairs and some had repirators. There were crutches and canes. I could not speak. I was frozen in place. There was sweat on my forehead and palms. How could I teach these kids? They should all be allowed to be stay at Disneyland everyday. What difference did percentages and decimal make?
As I stood there unintelligibly mumbling like an idiot, into the classroom burst an energetic little fellow. Immediately, the tension was broken as a warmth of smiles filled the rooms. Three foot tall Dougie worked the classroom with the gusto of a seasoned politician.
"Mary, how are you doing today? I love that smile."
"Jimmy, what's up! It's great to see you back."
"Barbara, that's a nice shirt."
"Bobby, I can't believe the Dodgers pulled out that game."
"Jose, how's that new stuff working that the Doc gave you?"
Dougie gave an individual comment or acknowledgement to each student. There were words but he communicated with much more than with just words. When Dougie spoke, he made direct eye contact. When a reply was made, however brief, you could actually see the large head on his small body tilt to listen intently. Then there was a narrowing of his eyes and a nod or two of understanding. Bonds were established in seconds. He also made physical contact with each child, usually with two hands. A pat on the back of the hand combined with a pat on the upper arm. A hand shake was covered with a second hand.
He was a master. Did a minute pass? Or two? Or five? It didn't matter.
My turn, "Hi, you must be Mr. FitzPatrick, our new math teacher." He held out his hand and I bowed and we shook hand. He looked at me with trust and hope. "OK, Mr. Fitz. I just want to tell you that this class is sometimes hard to teach because kids are coming and going but we're all good kids and hard workers. Now the last thing that we were doing with Mrs. Donovan was dividing decimals."
My heart was breaking for these wonderful children. Then, Dougie asked me, "Mr. Fitz did you know Mrs. Donovan?" The class was already beginning to laugh. Of course, at this point, they knew Dougie much better than I. "Well, she was so fat, that she had to take three steps before her backside moved... At the all-you-can-eat chinese buffet down the street, they had to put a four hour time limit on her eating."
I laughed and laughed. The kids laughed and laughed. And, Dougie wouldn't stop, "... I mean when this woman walked around the classroom, there was some serious jiggling goin' on." And Dougie then jumped out of his seat and mimicked the poor Mrs. Donovan. I quickly learned that there was a cardinal rule at Sprague, "Don't encourage him!."
Since many of the kids had spent extended time in hospitals, the Sprague School was unstructured as far as age and grades were concerned. Dougie, for example was a teenager. Most of the other children were younger.
Every day, Dougie was the same. Every minute of every day, Dougie was the same: greeting, smiling, back patting, joking. Around Dougie, people were just happy. He was a complete hellion. Besides the comments, if there was a practical joke to be played, he'd think of it. More than once, he had snuck into the principal's office and used the intercom to broadcast crazy messages throughout the school. He could often be seen hitching rides from other students on various motorized wheelchairs always goading the driver to higher speeds.
In an institution where staff and students could so easily have been melancholy, Dougie was vibrant. He was lively and lived in the moment. Dougie was loved.
Dougie and I became friends over a common addiction, cigarettes. Dougie was fifteen years old and took great delight from sneaking smokes and great pleasure from smoking. I was his link to the butts. Yes, yes, even then, it was wrong to give someone his age cigarettes but Dougie was a tough person to deny. He'd hunt me down throughout the day with "Come on Willie, let's go outside and grab a smoke."
Dougie had numerous names for everyone. I could be Mr. F, Bill, Billy, Will, Willie, Mr. Fitzy. Just about any name except, Mr. FitzPatrick.
I was totally taken in by Dougie and his positive influence over people. Dougie was special and a lot of his specialness seemed to be due to his selflessness. How could he maintain such a positive attitude and outlook given his circumstance
Dougie's words and touch could be so comforting. It was not unusual at Sprague for a child to be gripped by pain or terror. It was not unusal to hear screams and crying. There were psychotherapists and psychologists, and social workers and nurses and there was Dougie. In pain or terror, a child might call for Dougie. Dougie's word or touch could calm.
Another thing about Dougie was his physical toughness. The world, even at Sprague, was not built for a three footer. Even the riser on stairs could be a problem for Dougie and he'd frequently tumble. Of course, there was also the occasional wheelchair racing accident that would send him flying to wall or floor. Every time. Every time, he would get up waving off offers of help. "I'm fine. I'm fine," he'd say. His body language, if you can picture it was sort like John Wayne. He'd get up with a kind of roll of the shoulders and a tug up of the pants and almost swagger away. His movement was subtle but strong.
At the time, how could I possibly tell anyone that everything that I wanted to be was inside this teenage dwarf. He was tough. He was funny. He was charismatic. This kid got more hugs and kisses from more women!
At our frequent smoke breaks, Dougie and I would mostly share gossip about the student and staff, typically irreverent comments. We'd talk sports and movies. Still, I wanted to know if Dougie knew the power he had. Well, he did and he didn't.
Dougie was fortunately from a large loving family. Dougie said to me that his mother had said to him, "You wake up each day with a clean slate. You can decide to be happy or sad. Why not start the day happy and see what happens rather than starting miserable?"
"So, you start every day happy?"
"Yes, Billy Boy."
"Dougie, why do you think you're so popular?"
"What's the matter, Willie, do you think your're unpopular?"
"But, Dougie, some people are mean to you aren't they?"
"Willie Boy, some people are jerks. They are. I can't help that. What can I do? I'm little. I move on. I like
people so I guess people like me back."
"Do you know that you really listen to people when they talk to you?"
"Why Willie, what am I supposed to do?"
"Dougie, do you know that when you're talking seriously to people that you look into their eyes and shake their hands or pat their arms?"
"No, Billy, I just know that it's polite to listen to people when they're talking to you and what am I supposed to do, look at their shoes?"
Near the end of my assignment at Sprague, I wrestled with asking Dougie about his conditions and his future. I worried. I shouldn't have.
"Dougie, you seem to have a pretty good attitude about being different?"
"Well, Mr. F, I'm really not t-h-a-t different. I'm a dwarf, a little person but I'm mostly just like you, Willie!"
Dougie then told me a story that I'll never forget. He told me that he had an Uncle Bill and that his Uncle Bill was also a dwarf. He told me that his Uncle Bill was a clown in the circus. His uncle made a good living and drove a Cadillac and had two houses and had a pretty wife who loved him. He told me that his uncle was so happy that he could do a job every day that made other people happy. Dougie told me that his Uncle Bill was going to help him get the same life. Dougie said, " I'm gonna have money, houses, a nice car, and get paid to be a clown. Not too shabby, eh, Billy. What about you?"
Even at seventeen, Dougie was happy and adjusted because he saw and believed in his own bright future. He seemed to be saying to me that he knew that he was not going to have everything but he was going to have enough and that was OK.
Dougie told me how he felt about being a dwarf. Medically right or wrong didn't matter, his rationalization to his condition was all that mattered. His Uncle Bill had told him a story about when he, Uncle Bill was a boy. Uncle Bill had asked his doctor if their was anything that he could do to grow to a normal size. The doctor had told Uncle Bill that their was actually very little abnormal about him.
The doctor had told Uncle Bill to picture a very large fish tank that was filled to the top with marbles. The doctor said that each of those marbles representative human genes and chromosomes. The doctor said if we take just one of those marbles out of all the tens-of thousands there, that is the difference between Uncle Bill and everybody else - just one marble. The doctor said that everything else about Uncle Bill, ten fingers and ten toes and hair and eyes and heart and liver and brain, everything else is the same. You are only one marble different than everybody else.
Dougie could handle the fact that he was only one marble different.
Many times since in my own life when faced with challenges, I have tried to look and plan ahead I've thought, "is there even a marble's bit of difference between me and the person I want to be?"
Questions To Consider:
How did Dougie break the tension in the classroom?
Besides verbal communication how else did Dougie communicate?
How did Dougie show that he was also physically tough?
What did Dougie do that made him so popular?
What advice did Dougie's mother give him?
How was Dougie able to rationalize his disability?
What lessons could Dougie teach others?
OPEN SOUL MEDITATION TECHNIQUE is different. Keeping the same essence as the old wisdom at the core level – but modified keeping in mind the needs and challenges of the modern lifestyle.
