Remember when he said his first word? Took his first step? Played at the beach for the first time? Rode a bike? Lost his first tooth? Scurried off to first grade? I told you about them all.
None of these events were any different than those similar occurrences in the life of every child. But they were special to me because he is special. Besides, it is always easier to remember the first times.
During these growing years, not an even dozen yet, he has also suffered his share of illnesses. We treated them with proper doses of liquid medicines, chewable tablets and aspirin dissolved in a teaspoon of water, the remedies which come in that container the doctor terms, “People proof” bottles. By the time I had wrestled with the bottle to give up its lid, I was in little mood to wrestle with the child who didn’t want to open his mouth because he already knew it tasted “yucky.” I’ve lost count of the number of night clothes stained with dribble or partially refused “grape flavored” “yuks.”
This week, he accomplished a new first. He learned to swallow pills. Up to now, he could swallow an entire meal without chewing it, a fist size wad of bubble gum and anybody’s tall tale; but for the life of him, he could not swallow a pill. Remember, that simple little act has to be learned. And like whistling, it is one act a person has to teach himself. No amount of demonstrations and instructions on the part of the parent is transferable to the child’s ability to performs. Usually, he gags.
For a year or more now, he’s tolerated the taunts of older siblings. At first they honestly tried to teach him to to swallow. Frustrated, they soon resorted to teasing him about having to take “baby” medicine. They were certain he was just being stubborn. Morning after morning’s attempt to swallow a “grown up” vitamin brought failure and another chewable pill. He was certain he was labeled a baby forever.
However, an unfortunate outcropping of poison sumac brought a prescription from the doctor who forgot this child couldn’t swallow pills. The tiny-pill medication came in a cute little plastic case with each day’s dose doled out line by line. With a new itch, he was determined to accomplish what seems so simple, yet is so difficult.
Sighing, he place pill in mouth and gulped a whole glass of water. The first pill went down smoothly - as if he had bee doing it all his life. He couldn’t believe it. He ran his tongue around his teeth to see if the pill had found a hiding place instead.
He smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His step took a new bounce as he ran off to play. But he turned back for one more word of praise about his his growing up action. He looked puzzled as he wiped a tear from my cheek. “Hey, what’s this?” asked this grown-up little boy of mine.
1979
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