Sećate li se ovoga?
Mića Tatić i emisija “Na slovo, na slovo”
Ja baš i ne, ali me je džingl na jutarnjem programu B92 podsetio.
Mnogo mi je lep ovaj tekst.
Pisao je Duško Radović.

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na slovo na slovo tekst (29)

author unknown

I am the child who cannot talk.
You often pity me, I see it in your eyes.
You wonder how much I am aware of.
I see that as well.

I am aware of much …
whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or
impatient, full of love and desire, or if you are just
doing your duty by me. I marvel at your frustration,
knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express
myself or my needs as you do.

You cannot conceive my isolation,
so complete it is at times.
I do not gift you with clever conversation,
cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated.
I do not give you answers to your everyday questions,
responses over my well being, sharing my needs,
or comments about the world about me.
I do not give you rewards as defined by the world’s standards,
great strides in development that you can credit yourself;
I do not give you understanding as you know it.

What I give you is so much more valuable…
I give you instead opportunities.
Opportunities to discover the
depth of your character, not mine;
the depth of your love, your commitment,
your patience, your abilities;
the opportunity to explore your spirit
more deeply than you imagined possible.
I drive you further than you would ever go on your own,
working harder, seeking answers to your many questions with no answers.
I am the child who cannot talk.

I am the child who cannot walk.
The world seems to pass me by.
You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair,
to run and play like other children.
There is much you take for granted.
I want the toys on the shelf,
I need to go to the bathroom,
oh I’ve dropped my fork again.

I am dependent on you in these ways.
My gift to you is to make you more aware of your great fortune,
your healthy back and legs,
your ability to do for yourself.
Sometimes people appear not to notice me;
I always notice them.
I feel not so much envy as desire,
desire to stand upright, to put one foot in front of the other,
to be independent.
I give you awareness.
I am the child who cannot walk.

I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I don’t learn easily,
if you judge me by the world’s measuring stick,
what I do know is infinite joy in simple things.
I am not burdened as you are
with the strifes and conflicts of a more complicated life.
My gift to you is to grant you the freedom
to enjoy things as a child,
to teach you how much your arms around me mean,
to give you love.
I give you the gift of simplicity.
I am the child who is mentally impaired.

I am the disabled child.
I am your teacher.
If you allow me,
I will teach you what is really important in life.
I will give you and teach you unconditional love.
I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you.
I teach you about how precious this life is
and about not taking things for granted.
I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams.
I teach you giving.
Most of all I teach you hope and faith.
I am the disabled child.

Podsetila me na ovu poemu Moošema svojim postom o “Giving Tree“, o davanju i uzimanju (mada bih ja radije rekla primanju).

Ako se sećate, pred Novu godinu, “naše” obdanište organizovalo je manifestaciju “Ulica Darovanja“, da decu naučimo da je nekima naše darovanje potrebno.

I naravno da to darovanje nema potrebe da bude materijalno, darujte im svoje vreme, pažnju, pozdrav, razgovor, igru…

Našla sam ovo jednom davno negde na net-u, sad prebiram po kompu i nađoh. Da se ne izgubi.

The Special Mother, by Erma Brombeck

Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit.

This year nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?

Somehow I visualize God hovering over earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As He observes, He instructs His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.

“Armstrong, Beth; son. Patron saint…give her Gerard. He’s used to profanity.”

“Forrest, Marjorie; daughter. Patron saint, Cecelia.”

“Rutledge, Carrie; twins. Patron saint, Matthew.”

Finally He passes a name to an angel and smiles, “Give her a handicapped child.”

The angel is curious. “Why this one God? She’s so happy.”

“Exactly,” smiles God, “Could I give a handicapped child to a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel.”

“But has she patience?” asks the angel.

“I don’t want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she’ll handle it.”

“I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I’m going to give her has her own world. She has to make her live in her world and that’s not going to be easy.”

“But, Lord, I don’t think she even believes in you.” God smiles, “No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect – she has just enough selfishness.” The angel gasps – “selfishness? is that a virtue?”

God nods. “If she can’t separate herself from the child occasionally, she’ll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a ‘spoken word'”. She will never consider a “step” ordinary. When her child says ‘Momma’ for the first time, she will be present at a miracle, and will know it!”

“I will permit her to see clearly the things I see… ignorance, cruelty, prejudice…. and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life, because she is doing My work as surely as if she is here by My side”.

“And what about her Patron saint?” asks the angel, his pen poised in mid-air.

God smiles, “A mirror will suffice.”