What Sam Teaches Me: A Reflection on World Down Syndrome Day

Right foot up.

Left foot up.

Left hand on the railing, fingers lingering over the narrow, intricately carved posts.

Right arm bent at his side.

His ascension, methodical, his cadence perfected over time.

He giggles, knowing I’m right behind him. We reach the top where he runs to his room, turns sharply inside the door to locate his basket of books. He studies one, then another, finally holding three to his chest. My weight settles into a soft chair as I accept his literary offering, then he backs up to my knees and waits for me to hoist his 40 lbs. of solid delight onto my lap. We’ll spend the next 10 minutes riding in Little Blue Truck, then sailing away to Where the Wild Things Are, eventually returning home to the familiar words of Mother Goose.

My cheek meets the back of his neck and I get a whiff of peanut butter, the scent of his signature sandwich. We turn the last page and he wiggles from my embrace, slides off my lap, and squats in front of the CD player. I remind him again to have ‘kind hands’ as he pushes the buttons. Jewel’s soothing voice comes through the speakers and I lift him into his crib because yes, even at 4.5 years of age, he still needs contained for safety reasons. He reaches for his worn grey bunny, lays his head down, tucks his knees beneath his belly, and pushes his bum toward the sky. He giggles and says, “Bah!” (“bye”) as I quietly close the door.

This routine occurs daily at 1:15 pm. I have learned to take my time, to embrace this ritual led by Sam who requires a bit more time with nearly every task. Whether getting dressed, pulling on socks, lacing up shoes, playing a game, choosing a book, or sitting on the toilet, he needs extra time. His delays invite me to slow down, a practice I didn’t think I needed.

I’m embarrassed to admit that a slower pace never really marked my youth.

I raced to get up and get to school.

I raced to XC practice, where my job as a long distance runner was to run more miles in less time.

I raced to get my homework done to babysit to fun nights with friends.

I raced from XC season to basketball season to track season to summer break.

I raced to college, through summer jobs, college graduation, and on to my first full-time job.

For years, I served the god of speed, quietly taking great pride in what I could accomplish in the least number of hours. I based my self-acceptance, my value as an employee, student, and human on how many tasks I could check off my daily to-do list. The more quickly I worked, the more I could get done, and if I could multi-task, ohmygosh, I could accomplish even more! If I had run for President in those years, my campaign slogan would have been: Make America Fast (Neurotic) Again.

This is not Sam’s slogan. He takes his time learning and reaching milestones and has unknowingly proven to my spastic years that slowing down and staying fully engaged in each task is healthier–for all of us. Trading my Tasmanian Devil tendencies for a more thoughtful approach to my days has led to a more meaningful way of being.

Whether we’re playing with kinetic sand, reviewing letters, studying books, putting together puzzles, or spilling dry beans everywhere, Sam’s pace asks me to release my need to multitask and embrace each moment, one activity at a time. His way of moving through the world assures me I can reject the cultural lie that whispers, “You’re not moving fast enough. At this pace, you’ll never write a book. You’ll never catch up on those projects. Let’s go! You don’t have time to slow or stop! Chop, chop, Katie!”

Choosing Sam’s pace has lowered my heart rate, paved the way for more quiet (which I love), and allowed me to study the marvelous details in each kid.

The way Eden says in her cheery voice, “Tat-too” (“thank you”) when I offer her a cracker.

The way Sam spins to music, turning his feet at just the right angle to accommodate his next step, without falling.

The way Jude talks to himself as he creates elaborate scenarios between the drivers of his oversized trucks.

The way Selah tilts her head, as she considers the perfect shade of color for a character she’s created on paper.

Prior to Sam’s arrival, I read approximately eleventy billion books and articles on Down syndrome, mentally preparing for an extra chromosome in our home. But beneath all of that knowledge, I still held subconsciously to this idea that he would adapt to our pace of life. In many ways, of course, each kiddo has adapted but in terms of speed with completing daily tasks and reaching milestones, I’ve adapted to Sam’s. With him, I take slower walks, celebrate every accomplishment, and make time to dance when the beat drops.

As I’ve embraced this gift of a more sustainable, more meaningful way of being, I’ve discovered that Sam isn’t the only one who needs extra time to learn important life skills.

Thankfully, I’ve got the perfect teacher.  

Photo Cred: Andrik Langfield at Unsplash