Lessons from Sam #1: Comparison often leads to pride or discouragement.

As the parent of a child with different abilities, I tend to be hyper aware of the comparison games we play in our culture. I’ve grown weary of the social competition in which our kids become pawns we move around the proverbial chessboard, always looking for a checkmate.

Comparison usually does one of two things: It can pull us toward pride or leave us discouraged.

I understand that exchanging information about our kids can be a helpful way to gauge their progress, to get another perspective. I also understand the desire to share our enthusiasm about our kids’ accomplishments. I want to trade info and celebrate, too, as long as our goal isn’t to one-up others or assign value to ability. To do so can lead to pride or discouragement, depending on where our kids land on the developmental map.

 

 

When my two older kiddos were born, I read through the What to Expect series with a big, fat magnifying glass, taking copious mental notes. I did all I could to help them excel in every area. As they grew, I compared them to their peers, hoping to keep them ahead developmentally. I actually wanted them to reach their milestones at record pace. Ridiculous, right? I could feel my competitive nature at work and I didn’t like it.

When Sam came along, I gave away those books. Soul work and parental experience were significant factors in this shift in perspective. I wanted to enjoy our new, sweet bundle without focusing on the speed of his milestones, especially compared to his typically developing peers.

 

Photo cred: Richelle Gregory Photography

In Sam’s first year of life, every doctor visit reminded me of his slower development. Medical paperwork revealed his progress as literally “off the charts”: at six months of age, he was in the 0.083 percentile for his height. There was no line on the age/height/weight graph. We recently celebrated his third birthday and he remains well below the typical percentiles in height and weight. His IEP indicates deficits in every area, a sobering (though not surprising) reality that tempts me to discouragement.

BUT.

I am learning to compare Sam to himself. While I celebrate his milestones, give thanks for his health, and want him to excel, I understand most importantly that he’s a person. He’s a soul. He’s my son. His abilities and placement on a chart do not determine his worth.

Will he know how to read? I hope so.

Will he know how to catch a ball? Tie his shoes? Jump? Eventually. Maybe.

Will he know how to sing? He’s trying.

Will he know a skill well enough to earn some money? Possibly.

Will he know how to live independently? Maybe.

Will he know how to effectively communicate to others his needs and wants? I pray so.

 

 

When I look at Sam, I don’t see stats in black ink on white paper. I witness something more that begs me not to compare him to others. I see a little human learning how to love and relate to his world. I see a cuddly boy who tickles his sisters, wrestles his brother, snatches warm cookies from the table, signs “Jesus”, and grins when he’s been naughty.

Sam is teaching me that he will learn and grow at his own pace. Instead of comparing him to others, I’m praying for wisdom and working to help him achieve his full potential. Seems to be a better use of my time.