Deaf/Blind News: "What's a Nice Boy Like You. . ."

Deaf/Blind News // What's a Nice Boy Like You. . . Corinne Klein Jensema, Ph.D. η Iknew I'd have to write Eddie's story one day. Every time I'd recall what happened to him, my conscience would be stunned by grief and guilt. Maybe the process of telling his story will relieve me of my feelings of complicity in the tragedy of this young man's life. I can't swear that I actually "saw" Eddie the first day I taught at the School for the Blind. He just bolted out of the bus, which dropped off the children from Clearwater, a state institution for the mentally retarded, and kept running. After an hour of chasing I managed to corner him on a flight of stairs that led to a locked basement door. For another 2 hours he ran up and down that flight of steps. He was what you might call "hyperactive." He did a repeat performance every morning that week. My only solace was that rumor had it, that it had taken two state troopers a half hour more than it had taken me to capture him one day when he escaped Clearwater. I almost quit that first week. My weight dropped 10 pounds, and I could do nothing but crawl into bed when I got home from work. The second Monday Eddie bolted out of the bus, ran to class, plopped into his chair, and giggled. He was a beautiful boy—tall, gangly, cherubic face, devilish blue eyes that would cross whenever he was perplexed. He never walked; he bounced or just plain ran. The records on him read "deaf-blind—untestable." I never questioned the records. After all, Eddie never responded to sounds, and he certainly acted oblivious to his environment. If he was running and people happened to be in his path, he knocked them over and literally ran over them. It soon became obvious, however, that the "deaf-blind" label was completely erroneous. This story is true but the names of the people and places have been fictionalized. Eddie loved to smell things—all manner of things. He could spy a sandaled foot across the classroom and would do a nose dive for the person's big toe to take in one healthy sniff before my aide Mary and I could pull him off. Definitely not blind! One day Eddie was being his usual hyperactive self. In a fit of exasperation I muttered aloud, "Eddie I wish for once you would just sit down." Eddie flopped into his chair. Mary and I exchanged shocked glances. "Eddie, stand up." He immediately complied. Definitely not deaf! Eddie did have an eye muscle problem and a moderate hearing loss but apparently the deaf-blind label was a consequence of his behavior, which he had devised to lock out his ' institutional surroundings. He adored school and was a quick learner. Everything was a novelty, and everything delighted him. He toilet trained in a week, learned about hot dogs and ice cream cones, became completely self-sufficient at dressing and bathing, and learned the rudiments of reading and writing. His personality was delightful. Not a day went by that he didn't pull off some antic that would put us in stitches. I can still remember when he tried to sniff the feet on every unshod statue at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Half of his lunch break was spent making funny faces to keep us amused. He was always cheerful, never angry. He came home with me several times. He would spend hours romping around the back yard, smelling flowers, peeking in the garage, and helping with the gardening. Every 15 minutes he would scamper into the house, hold his cheek up for a kiss and, after he got it, charge out again. He went right to bed at night and after he woke up played quietly by himself until I came to get him for breakfast. Why hadn't efforts been made to get him adopted years ago? I tried to rekindle his family's interest in him. His grandmother and father lived in a little A.A.D. I December 1981 991 Deaf ¡Blind News...