When I was almost two years old, my cousin, Dallas, was born. I was too young to remember the trip to see him for the first time, too young to remember the tests being run, and too young to really understand the phrase "something is wrong." The only memories I have are the ones relayed to me through home videos, the ones where wires were sticking to his body and doctors were in and out of hospital rooms.
It wasn't until I got older that I began to pick up on things. How he didn't walk when he was supposed to, how he wasn't saying his first word as we got older, and how we would still make several trips to the hospital.
The doctors would examine Dallas and follow his health issues, and soon came to the conclusion that he would never live past the age of three. He would be unable to speak or walk or really have any control of his body.
As I continued to grow older, I learned Dallas had mental and physical disabilities, and those disabilities didn't allow him to learn things at the pace I or my sister, who was born over a year after Dallas, was learning. The term "special needs" entered into my life in a time where I couldn't fully comprehend what that meant. Dallas was just simply Dallas. He was my best friend from the very beginning, and I never viewed him like something was wrong.
As Dallas grew up, he faced too many challenges to count. Not only academically, but physically, mentally, and emotionally. He struggled with learning basic skills, he was unwanted and given up on, and he battled with health issues on top of his intellectual disabilities.
But this story doesn't end there. This story doesn't end with disabilities and hindrances and hardships.
This is a story of great ability and defeating the odds.
When Dallas turned three, that wasn't the end. At the age of four, he took his first step. Not long after, he was talking. Something the doctors said he would never do. He wasn't able to do much, but one simple step and one simple syllable would speak volumes of the hope we held onto as a family, that Dallas was stronger and braver than any disability, diagnosis or struggle.
At the age of 12, my grandparents gained custody of Dallas, and he moved in with them. They both sacrificed so much to take care of him and give him the best life he could possibly have, and those sacrifices are evident every single day in his character, demeanor and growth.
Before long, Dallas was involved in special education programs that would challenge and grow him, was involved in a ministry especially created for special needs students, and was understanding the concept of family and the Gospel like he never had before. He would tell us the Bible stories he was learning, he would practice communion, and he would be baptized, all decisions he made himself. He was losing weight, learning more in school, and was overall growing into the silly and happy Dallas we know today.
And on January 3rd, 2017, we celebrated Dallas's 21st birthday. Eighteen years after he was supposed to have died, we sang to him while he giggled of embarrassment, we laughed with him as he cracked jokes, and he held my hand as we walked to the car at the end of the night.
Dallas, a boy who was told he would never live to be three and would never be able to do much of anything, has made honor roll every semester of high school so far, has joined ROTC, has landed a job for the Tampa Yankees minor league baseball team, has lost weight and joined a Special Olympics powerlifting team, has won gold medals in Special Olympics races, and has brought us so much joy. Just to name a few of his accomplishments.
Why do I share this story? First, why not? This story should make every reader dance and sing with excitement. But another reason is to relay one message: able.
If you've never had a chance to interact with someone with an intellectual or physical disability, you may not know how to interact. You may feel uncomfortable or awkward, and that's okay. But you have to step out and step over that line of discomfort, because you will learn so much from this community.
When I was young, I realized I wanted to be a teacher, and Dallas helped me realize I wanted to teach special education. As cliché as this may sound, they will teach me more than I could ever teach them. This community speaks of grace, joy, and love. They reveal hope and determination in every action, no matter how small.
In August of 2016, I got my first tattoo, which was the word "brave," and I had it tattooed in Dallas' handwriting, because that's exactly what he is. He's brave. He's the bravest person I know, and with everything he's been through, he continues to grow in bravery.
Dallas is an example of the goodness of God. While the world may look at his disabilities and say he was a mistake, his Creator looks at him and says he was intricately created the way he is. He is proof that our God is greater than anything medical.
Dallas could have easily had a story where he gave up, he didn't fight, and he followed the doctors predictions. But he didn't. And because he didn't, my family has grown closer and stronger.
And so, friend, when you see someone with intellectual disabilities, I hope this impacts the way you view them. I hope you don't look down on that community, and instead I hope you look at them and see hope. I hope you see their strength, their passions, their contagious joy. And more than anything, I hope you see that they are capable of great, great things.
To end, I've left a few links. One is a song and video my dad created for Dallas. The song was written when Dallas was very young, and it's incredible to see the lyrics come to life now. The second is a story our local news did on Dallas in 2016, sharing more about him. I hope you dig into these and see how strong and able our Dallas is.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ap6EW5-1v4A
http://www.fox13news.com/health/89726451-story
