Celebrating National Adoption Month

Here at Life With Charley we have lots to celebrate during National Adoption Month.
#lifewithcharleyanddownsyndrome

Here are just a few reasons...

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Sherry Palmer is the author of: Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption

You are invited to read the first two chapters free, at: Zharmae Publishing Press

Thanks for stopping by our little corner of the world...Please, share with your friends. Thanks!

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@1pageturner: @isdonn #NationalAdoptionMonth #AngelsInDisguise @AshleyNMe1 #downsyndromeadoption

#AngelsInDisguise   #NationalAdoptionMonth  #InternationalDownsyndromecoalition  #Downsyndromeparents #worlddownsyndromeday

For the First Time

Waving to the kids down the street...

Two boys knocked on our door last week.

“Do you have any work we can do?” they asked.

Charley stood on the stoop and sized them up. He’d seen these boys before. They are part of the neighborhood group that plays basketball a few doors down. The group that laughs and runs and throws the ball with Charley, the “Down syndrome” guy watching from the doorway. Knowing he wants to play, but rarely asking him to join. “You can’t just invite yourself,” I tell him. This makes no sense to Charley.

Helicopter parent. That’s me. I could and probably should just let him go, grab a basketball, and strut his stuff. But somehow, I can’t stomach the thought that they might snub him and hurt his feelings. They look to be around middle school age.

“What kind of work?” I asked, thinking of all the nerve. You can’t ask Charley to play, but you can ask me for work.

“Anything,” the boys said, proceeding to tell me they were saving up to go to camp.

I thought about this. Might be good for Charley to see the neighborhood kids taking the initiative to look for work and pay their own way. Might rub off on him.

On the other hand, it might be good for the neighborhood kids to interact a little with him, that “down syndrome” guy who lives on their street.

“I do have a project, but it’s a bear,” I said. “Think you’re up to it?”

“Ok.”

“And I can pay you, but not a lot.”

“That’s okay.”

We stood there a few minutes longer chatting about their school, exchanging names.

“All right then, come over around 10:00 the morning of Labor Day, and we’ll have a project for you.

Now here’s the thing. I hadn’t forgotten about these boys. But they weren’t exactly the first thing I thought of when I got out of bed this morning. Nor did I expect them to show up at 8:00 a.m. It’s a holiday. I slept in. First cup of coffee. You know how it is. And just about the time you think about jumping into the shower, ringy dingy.

Charley is like the doorbell police.

“Whozit?” he says.

“It’s us, we’re here to work.”

Charley looked at Brad and me. “We’re here to work,” he said. Never let it be said that he was about to let those boys work in his house. Not unless he was in the thick of it.

He opened the door and invited the boys in.

“You sure this is okay with your Mom?” I asked.

“We don’t have a Mom,” one of the boys said. “We haven’t seen her for years. She walked out on us. We live with our Grandma.”

I could feel Charley’s eyes on me like he was seeing me for the first time. He put his arm around my shoulder. “My mom,” he said, under his breath.

I explained that the garage was more than a one day job, but that this was their lucky day. “We’re cleaning the closets today.”

“Sounds good,” one of the boys said.

“You haven’t seen the closets yet,” I said.

“How bad can it be?” The other boy said.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “My mom has given me bags and bags of her clothes. We have to go through them and hang them up.”

Brad and I headed back to the bedroom and opened his closet door. 

I saw the boys exchange glances. Yep. It could be bad.

Brad looked at the closet. Not that he doesn't see it every day, but it was almost as if he was seeing it for the first time. "Yikes."

“Let the digging begin,” I said.

We each had a job.

The boys pulled things out of the closet.

Charley stuffed bags and boxes full of clothes for the clothes closet at church. 

Out of the closet and into the car...

Brad cleared the racks for clothes to be hung.

I made the decisions. Brad would override them. Then he’d make decisions and I would override them. The boys scratched their heads. Charley rolled his eyes.

About an hour later, The boys downed a bottled water while Charley crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Whew!” one of the boys said.

“Glad that’s done,” the other boy said.

“That’s the first closet,” I said. “One closet down, one to go.”

The boys exchanged glances again.

Charley opened my closet door. He put his hand on his hips. “Mommy a mess,” he said to the boys.

"Mom's closet a mess..."

“That’s a lot of stuff,” one of the boys said.

“This could take hours,” the other boy said.

“That’s why they call it Labor Day,” I smiled.

“That’s my mom,” Charley said, patting me on the back.

Closet number two was different from closet number one. And why not? A woman’s closet is different than a man’s. I had to try on each piece of clothing, hold it up, and assess whether it was to stay or go, while the boys goofed off with Charley. Trying on scarves, putting boxes over their heads, comparing cell phones. Whooping it up. There comes a time when you no longer hand items to the person across the room. You launch it and hope it doesn’t take the ceiling fan down in the process. 

About a half hour into this fiasco, Brad reached his limit of letting me take my time, and into the closet he went. Flinging hangers around. Dropping things. He was ready to throw it all out. 

At one point I looked up and there were three of us in the bedroom. Charley, Brad, and me. And where were the boys? Kicked back in our recliners in the living room. I had to laugh.

“We’re almost done,” I said.

The boys went back to the bedroom to finish the job. 

All four guys in the bedroom. Having their way with my closet.  I could have used a box over my head, I can tell you that. I thought about marching back to the room and controlling the situation. Instead, I assumed the position in on the couch and waited them out.

About 20 minutes later, they emerged. “Done,” they announced.

We told the boys earlier that we would have to pay them later today, to which they agreed, but we thought it best to remind them.

“We don’t have any money on us at the moment,” Brad said. Before he could reiterate that he would stop by their house and pay them later, Charley reached into his pocket, pulled out a dollar, and handed it to one of the boys. “Good job,” he said.

The boy looked at the dollar, like surely this isn’t all we’re getting paid.

He looked at me.

“We’ll stop over at your house later after we’ve been to the bank,” I said.

He started to hand the dollar back to Charley. “You need to accept that dollar,” I told him.

The boy stuck the dollar in his pocket. "Thanks man," he said.

“Charley, do you have a dollar for the other boy?”

“No, that’s all,” he said, standing a little taller, with a big grin on his face. I could see he was proud to be giving that boy his last dollar.

You can't buy a priceless moment like that

You can’t buy a priceless moment like that.

Here was a boy I thought could role model a good work ethic for Charley, and he did.

But just when you think you’ve got it all neatly wrapped, you find a little gift you never expected. Because here was my supposedly special needs son, role modeling generosity for him.

The expression on the boy’s face said it all. He didn’t look at him like that “Down syndrome” guy.  He looked at him with respect.

Like he was seeing Charley for the first time.

Delivering money to the boys at their house

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Bio:  Sherry Palmer is the author of “Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption.” You can find it at: Life with Charley

Please visit Charley on Facebook at: Life With Charley - And Down Syndrome

Thank you!

Hoops For Hope; Because everyone can use a little hope

Thank you, Miss Gerry

When Charley woke up this morning, he thought it would be a typical Saturday with Dad (Pastor at New Hope Presbyterian Church); hanging out at the church while Brad finishes preparations for Sunday morning worship.

He was wrong.

It’s one of our favorite things to do; making him think he’s doing one thing, then surprising him with something else.

And that’s what happened. He did his usual walk through the den, hugged both of us, then said, “Dad, you and me today?”

Brad and I grinned at each other. “No, you’ve got a surprise coming to you.”

Little did he know that he’d not only be spending the day with one of his favorite people, (Miss Gerry), he’d be participating in the annual Hoops For Hope Benefit for the DSAG (Down Syndrome Awareness Group of East Tennessee).

Just the idea alone is awe-inspiring, as the University of Tennessee men’s and women’s basketball team assumes the roles of coaches, friends, and pals while the participants shoot hoops. 

Thank you, Coach!

Can Charley help it if he’s star-struck? Not everyone gets a new t-shirt signed by the team. And to my chagrin that shirt will eventually need to be washed, but I also know it will have to be surgically remove him first. 

And why wouldn’t he wear it to death? Every time he puts it on it’s a reminder that for a day, he was part of a magical experience called The University of Tennessee. 

It’s more than just a day of fun. 

You see, when someone like Charley steps onto the court, it’s not really about how many hoops he can make. For Charley, it’s about being part of a team.

It’s about those who see him as a person, not an extra chromosome. And yes, those who are willing to step out of themselves in order to become part of his team as well. (I don't know about you, but the thought that our university team takes time to spend the day with our special needs community gives me hope.)

Thank you, UT athletes. Just thank you.

And then there’s the flirting. And why not? what good is a cheerleader if you can’t flirt a little? Strutting your stuff in front of what he calls his “purty girls” is half the fun. I shamelessly admit that things like this make me swell with pride.

But I’m also humbled. 

My son had the time of his life, assuming his place with the athletes who’s job it is to win trophies and bring recognition for their school.

But not in this case. This time the athletes turned the focus on the participants; people, like Charley, who have the overwhelming task of jumping through hoops in order to be recognized, not for their disabilities, but for their abilities. Today, everybody stood on the court of the abled. There’s a reason they call it Hoops for Hope.

On this day, people like my Charley didn’t fade into the background.

Instead, they were the stars. And it was made possible by the efforts of DSAG (directed by Kelly Johnson) and the UT players who recognize that life isn’t always about them. It’s about confidence-building, and cheering for others. It’s about creating opportunities for others by paying it forward. It’s about standing back and allowing others to take their best shot.

Standing on the court of the abled

Charley, of course, doesn’t know this. All he knows is that he was slapped high-fives by the coaches and athletes, was given a Hoops for Hope T-shirt, and that he walked away with a medal and bragging rights. 

But here is what he does know. For a moment, he wasn’t “That Downs guy.” For a moment he just like everybody else. That’s all he wants, you know.

And for a moment, he was. 

There's a smile for this sort of thing...

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Sherry Palmer is the Author of Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption.

Please visit Charley's Facebook page at: Life With Charley - And Down Syndrome


Make sure to watch the  WBIR Coverage - Hoops for Hope

Thanks for visiting!

How My Son Fixed A Hotel Problem that I Couldn't

Photo, courtesy of Angels in Disguise. Look for the link on this site. You will love it!

This is the face of a leader. 

While there are some in the world who might think of a person with Down syndrome as marginal, let me assure you, that’s a misnomer. Even so, I think it’s safe to say in general, people would not consider a person with Down to be a leader.

What exactly is a leader, anyway? I believe a leader is a thinker. A problem solver. A decision maker. Someone who doesn't wait around for others to make things happen. Things happen because the leader makes them happen. Not by railroading others, or demanding, or coercing. But, by facing the giants. 

By giants, I mean facing those things that seem insurmountable. What may seem impossible to some seems a matter of course to a leader. When it comes down to it, a leader sees the need, signs up for the challenge, and then gathers the team to get it done. 

A leader sees the abilities in others, calls them to the task, and then gets out of the way and allows them to do it. 

A leader inspires others. Not with their elevated sense of self, but by their sense of seeing what's possible and elevating others. A leader is fearless.

Sometimes I forget what a leader Charley is. How he kicks his Down syndrome out of the way when facing his giants. How he summons that extra chromosome like a sword, slaying the obstacles in his path. And I saw it in action first-hand this morning. 

Here's what happened... 

We'd been staying at a hotel in Louisville for three days while visiting our families. It came time to leave and I told Charley I would go sign out while he finished packing. If you know anything about that twenty-first chromosome called Down syndrome, then you know what creatures of habit they are. Routine-oriented all the way. 

As far as Charley is concerned, part of the routine of staying in a hotel is using the luggage cart to unload and re-load the car. 

When we arrived, the luggage cart was available. But when we went to check out, all the carts were in use. 

“Gweat,” he said, slapping his palms to his thighs. “No carts.” (Can’t say I blamed him. I sure wasn’t carrying all our junk to the car.)

"Sorry honey," I said. "We'll just have to wait till someone brings one back. Then we can grab it." With that, I sat down on one of the chairs and waited. And waited, while he shifted from foot to foot. Was I to stop at nothing? First, no luggage cart, then trying to bore him to death with waiting?

He looked at me, like, see ya, and headed back to the room. I figured he was going to wait there. I figured wrong. 

About three minutes later here came Charley, into the lobby carrying my hanging clothes, three bags, his swimming fins, goggles, and my makeup case. Following close behind him was a tall, husky man carrying my suitcase and a Charley’s backpack. Behind him was another man. He was carrying our cube of Coke Zeroes, my journal, some books, and a box of snacks we just had to have for our trip.

"Dis way," Charley said, pointing. The men followed. Forgive me, but my mouth dropped open.  

Here was this little guy (Charley), maybe all of 5 feet, directing these two husky six-feet or so men, and they headed outside. "Dat's my Mom," he said to the men, as they went by. "Deese my fwents, Mom."  

The men nodded at me and said, "Hiya Mom, nice to meet you." 

I don't how else to say this, but I could have dropped and rolled right there. You've got to be kidding me. 

There was only one thing left to do; follow them to the car and grovel, followed by some serious apologizing. 

"Did he con you into carrying our luggage?" I asked. 

"Not exactly," one man said. "He said he needed help, so we helped." (I could just envision Charley in the hallway of the hotel, flagging down people on their way to the lobby; “Need help here,” and pointing to the room where the mountain of luggage waited.) 

"Kanks guys," Charley said, and slapped them a high five as the three of them headed back into the hotel.  

I pulled the car around to the entrance of the hotel, thinking it would be easier for Charley and me to get the rest of our stuff. 

Um, did I say Charley and me?  

Scratch that. Because the next thing I know, Charley's emerging from the hotel with a woman following close behind, and she happened to be carrying what was left of the case of bottled waters we had brought with us. Into the back of the van it went.  

He turned and grinned at me. “See?”

Again, my chin nearly hit the ground. 

"Charley, you just can't go asking people to do things like this," I scolded. 

"Welax Mom, I got dis." 

He sure did. 

Before I knew it, the car was completely loaded, and there wasn't a luggage cart in sight. 

Now. You may think this was rude. You may think it invasive. You might even consider it demanding and inappropriate. And I suppose by most standards, it was. But I couldn't help smiling at what a problem solver my supposedly "challenged" son is. There I was, resigned to sit and wait until a luggage cart showed up; while he was busy taking care of the challenge at hand. Facing the giants.

A few minutes later we met my sister for breakfast. When we went to leave, Charley sat down in the waiting area while we paid the bill. He wasn't sitting there very long when a man approached the door pushing a stroller with a small child. I saw the man, and the waiting area filled with people. I also saw the only person who jumped up and raced to hold the door open. It was Charley.  

That was a moment of clarity for me. It wasn't that Charley was trying to con those travelers at the hotel into doing work for him. He simply needed help. He had a task at hand that seemed too much for one person, and he set about gathering his team. To him, that seemed logical. And, bless him, he didn't act like me. Not once did he issue an apology for inconveniencing them. To him, people should help people. And that's just the way it is. 

When I think of all the leadership positions I've had over the years, it makes sense. Every good leader understands team work. They also understand the concept of paying it forward. (Apparently, so does Charley). You help me, and I'll either help you, or I'll help someone else when the situation presents itself.  

It's a simple concept, really, this you help me and I'll help you mentality. And if it’s so simple, then why are we so surprised when a supposedly simple person figures it out? 

I'm embarrassed at how often I underestimate him. How little I still know about that extra chromosome called Down syndrome. But I'm equally impressed at the things he teaches me. 

Does this mean I'll recruit travelers to help me with my luggage when he isn't around? Probably not. Does it mean I won't fuss at him when he sets out recruiting his team, especially when it’s a team he’s never even met? Probably not. 

What it does mean is that I can see him in a new light; that of a person who faces his giants, whether they are people or challenges. 

It also means that when he's faced with those challenges, he's a thinker. He finds a way.

As a mother of a special needs adult, my whole life has been about facing the giants… 

• The massive preconceived notions of that extra chromosome and all the challenges that come with it. 

• The extensive health issues that often accompany Down syndrome. 

• The wide schisms that so often cause those roadblocks in his social development.  

Yes, life has its hurdles. But sometimes it takes an extra chromosome to show us all how to take a leap. 

When I think about it, the world may crumble around us, but the one left standing will be the one who doesn't cower just because the situation seems bigger than he is. 

You’ll know him when you see him. Just follow the leader. 

Sherry Palmer is the Author of Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption. Available at: Life With Charley

Thanks for visiting!

Please visit Charley on Facebook at: Life With Charley - And Down Syndrome

Stranger Danger

Have you ever known someone so sweet that they have no fear?

That’s Charley.

Everybody’s friend

And, as far as he’s concerned, everybody is his friend, too.

Here’s how things work at my house…

Charley is the neighborhood greeter. He stands out on the front step and waves to everyone. "Hey fwent!" 

Sometimes they wave back. Sometimes they ignore him properly.

He watches everyone.

“Look Mom, dat guy over dere.” Meaning, that guy is mowing lawn.

“Dat guy got da mail.” And so should he.

“Dat guy work da house.” Meaning, that guy has power tools. They make lots of noise. That makes him cool. Maybe he’d like to come to our house and tell us all about it.

And so it was.

I’m busy doing laundry, and sit down to take a break. I’m bending over, rummaging in my knitting bag for my latest project, and better hurry with it, or Mom’s birthday will be here before I’m finished.

“See? Dat my Mom,” he says.

I look up. There’s a man with long curly hair standing in the living room.

Oh Lord.

The man introduces himself as “Ron,” and squats down to pet the cat.

We chat for a moment, but inside I’m freaking out.

A man in the living room.

A man I’ve never seen before.

The man tells me he is working on the house across the street, building a play room for the new neighbors.

He seems nice enough, but he’s in my living room and I’ve never seen him before.

“See?” Charley says to me after the man leaves.

“Charley, you know better than to invite some stranger into the house like that.”

Or does he?

I remember telling him over and over not to open the door to strangers if they knock.

But did I ever tell him not to invite someone in?

How many times has he been in the living room and I’ve brought a friend home. Someone he didn’t know? True, I didn’t flag them in from off the street, but still, he didn’t know them. And what did I do? I introduced them. "Say hi, Charley."

Charley has a dilemma. He sees what I do. Then I tell him not to do it.

He’s 24. Should he be able to invite a friend in?

He has no concept of my-stranger-is-ok, but-yours-is-not.

As Charley gets older, I admit I let my guard down more than I used to.

I let him go outside by himself more. He empties the garbage. Most of the time he comes back. When he doesn’t, we go fetch him.

Sometimes he takes a detour, such as to the house across the street to invite “Ron” to the house.

It’s scary to see a stranger in your house.

Now, you must understand, I’m not afraid when Charley’s around. At least, I try not to be.

He’s strong and even though he is smaller than that guy, I have no doubt he could beat him up and leave him begging for mercy if provoked. All those years of carrying the TV from his room to the living room and back again every 15 minutes because he couldn't decide where he wanted to watch it didn't leave my son without muscles. 

Not that I want him inviting the neighborhood into the house, but if he decides they are all to come calling, then so be it.

The thing that gives me pause is this…Charley has no fear. No filter. No what-if?

What if that guy isn't a good guy?

What if Mom doesn't want to entertain right now?

What if I get in trouble for bringing ol’ Ron into the house unannounced? 

It's not a good situation, this open house, come-on-in. This Ya'll-com-back-now-ya-hear? No, it's downright dangerous. I've spent countless times explaining how he could get hurt. How I could get hurt. It's not that he doesn't care, it's that it doesn't register. 

I'll say, "Charley, inviting someone to the house that you don't know is dangerous."

He looks at me and grins, like, Dat guy? Can't you see how nice dat guy is? And he says, "Come on..."

It makes no sense to him. Such is the communication gap. The schism of reasoning that sets Charley apart from other thinkers. He wants to be regarded as a man, and most of the time he is. But it is times like these when the innocence of that 21st chromosome gets in the way. 

That being said, stranger danger and all, I have to admit that even though he sometimes scares me to death, I try to remind myself to look for the good. There has to be something good about this, and there is. He sets an example with his neighborliness. His unconditional acceptance of his fellow man.

 I admire him. 

I often wonder what it must be like to be Charley. To live your life as if everyone has your best interest at heart.

What if we all lived our lives like that?

What if we all treated strangers as if they were our new best friend? 

What if we brought them fried chicken on the first night in their new house? Brad did that the night they moved in.

What if we invited people in?

Most of us keep the world out.

We keep ourselves closed.

What if we were a little more neighborly? What if we approached the other guy like Charley does...why can't we be fwents?

What if we walked across the lawn and said, “Hi” ?

If we did that, the stranger in our house wouldn't be so strange after all.

And just to clear this up, no, I don’t particularly want a strange guy in my living room.

Charley and I will have a little chat about that.

Right after I walk across the lawn and meet the new neighbors.

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Sherry Palmer is the author of Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption, available on Amazon.com