"My Brain Doesn't Work"

“My brain doesn’t work” was his answer to the question posed by the one person in his world in whom he had a trusted confidence coupled with an affection that motivated a desire to be understood. I sat on the other side of our booth in the tiny restaurant and observed this exchange with over thirty years of accumulated emotion founded in love, devotion, responsibility, invested effort and parental pride. My son was seated next to Annie. To appreciate this scene fully, you must have a sense of my son’s fondness for this young woman… his guest for lunch.

In one of my constant series of created exercises designed to prod and reinforce the development of a brain that cerebral palsy had affected, I made it a “game” to challenge my son with questions that were playfully presented as attempts to catch him unaware. “Well, Son… yesterday I… or let me see… was it yesterday?… what day is this?… Oh… and tomorrow will be?… Oh… OK… so the day after tomorrow will be?…” and on it would go. (I had learned that “sequencing” was one of the functions of his brain that was severely impaired by his handicap.) When he would proudly cut the game short with correct responses, I would “high five” him and say “Wow! Tried to catch you, but you are too sharp for me today” And he would do the “guy thing” and put on a smug smile of victory. So, it was quite in character when (as we were driving toward our daily visit to the workout facilities at the neighborhood YMCA) he asked “Dad! What is today?” I employed a few staged hesitations feigning calculation and proudly announced “Monday!” “Nope!! It’s Annie!” was his response with a wistful smile of romantic anticipation. For, you see, Annie was his trainer at the YMCA. And my son was completely enchanted with his “Annie!” And we were on our way to be with her.

With that understanding, you will appreciate his delight when I asked him who he would like to invite to join us for a lunch made possible by the cancellation of his regularly-scheduled speech therapy. There was not so much as a moment’s hesitation in his reply of “Annie!” Thusly, we were in the company of this lovely young woman of delicate sensitivities and grace on the day and at the time of note. After expressing her happiness that we had the opportunity made possible by the cancellation of his therapy, Annie’s question to my son was, as she called him by name, “Now, why, exactly, do you go too speech therapy?” He looked at her with such a tenderness and sincerity that it is, all these years hence, still fresh in my recollection. And with an openness that projected his desire to be completely understood he responded with the aforementioned “My brain doesn’t work.” Then, after a moment of profound silence, he looked to me with a look that said “Help me here Dad, I don’t know how to explain further.” I was doing my best to maintain my composure. (I must note here that, prior to this moment, my son had never acknowledged… in any way… any level of awareness of his disabilities. And here he was, at over thirty years of age, revealing a depth of awareness that was profoundly complex in its scope. I was torn between the pain of hearing the love of my soul verbalize his burden… and the desire to cheer and applaud this demonstration of a mental grasp that had never before been revealed… but I was in the moment that was his… and my reactions and emotions were secondary to his moment.)

“Well Son… you are a very smart guy. You are quite intelligent. But cerebral palsy has made your brain so that it sometimes doesn’t cooperate. And that is what the speech therapy is helping us to find out… ways to make your brain cooperate when it doesn’t want to… by getting your brain to show us what it has a hard time with. And you are getting better at making your brain cooperate by taking charge of it and showing it that you are the Boss. That‘s why we are going to speech therapy.” “Yeah!! That’s it! My brain doesn’t want to cooperate!” he responded, with a look of victory and discovery that illuminated his Being. And from that moment forward, he and I had a “frame of reference” that gave him a “tool” to use when frustration and exasperation wanted to overwhelm him. He would, frequently, say “Ohhh… my brain isn’t cooperating today!” And he didn’t, any longer, have the concern that he… the person… was flawed. It was simply “that uncooperative brain” acting up again.

So… My Very Dear Reader… why have I subjected myself to the passed nearly-two weeks of pained agony in recollection of the emotions incumbent to the reliving of this event (which has rendered me silent and absent from the usual submissions to this blog)? Simply because I have pledged, to you, my faithful presentation of lessons learned in my pilgrimage that have the potential to be of assistance to you in the walking of yours. And I know that you, just as I, have times when your brain… your subconscious… your self-image… your deeply-held concept of yourself… “doesn’t cooperate” with your wished for… your intended… your hoped for images of who you want to be… what you want to do… how you want to live. And just as was true in the miniscule moment portrayed (in painful detail) for you, you can take control of your “uncooperative” thoughts. You can assume responsibility for the management of your thought processes and take the reigns of mastery of your “mental behavior” just as my son (who lives with a permanent impairment that he could easily fall back on and allow to provide an all-too-easy excuse for irresponsibility) did.

I do not suggest that this is easy. I do acknowledge that practiced history may shout discouragements that try to drown out the voices of determination and desire. But I, simultaneously, offer the quiet reassurance to you that, even as my mentally impaired son has done, you can experience ever more frequent moments of victory and conquest over the obstacles and hurdles of circumstance. Please try. Please!

While I remain, Your lovingly faithful Friend and constant Servant,

John-Michael