Matt

Matt

Publication: The Lookout

Date: January 18, 2009

Column: First Look

Category: Family; Disability; Cerebral Palsy

Matt has C.P. When he was about 18 months old, a physician at a health clinic who knew her stuff but lacked social graces looked his perplexed parents in the eye and said, "I don't know why everyone's so puzzled. It's obvious he has C.P." When they asked what C.P. meant, she bluntly explained, "Cerebral palsy."

For reasons no one can explain and through no fault of his own, near the time of Matt's birth (two-and-a-half weeks premature) his brain was deprived of adequate oxygen, creating lifelong effects on his body, mind, and spirit.

As he developed, Matt's parents noticed that he didn't crawl like other babies. He pulled himself along with his left arm while his right arm and his right leg looked weak and stiff. Doctors warned that learning difficulties might surface as he grew up—and indeed, public school turned into a 14-year trial for Matt and his parents.

By God's grace he made it through high school, and now at age 30 he plans to graduate from college this spring. It's ironic that Matt ever struggled in school because in many ways he's intellectually gifted. He's an excellent writer, and his college professors comment about the skillful way he presents his ideas. He's an arm-chair philosopher with a keen grasp of current events. He's a sports fan and an encyclopedic source of trivia about popular music.

Matt is a voracious reader, well-known at the public library. It's not uncommon for him to read two or three sizeable books a week on a variety of subjects ranging from politics and religion to sports and current events. After years of doodling on notebook paper while listening in class, he's become an amateur cartoonist and a self-styled comedian who can imitate the voices and mannerisms of popular politicians. He entertains at family gatherings with side-splitting stories.

Matt's laughter springs from a heart familiar with disappointment. He went through all the normal growing pains every kid experiences, but he also endured some unique hurts. Would-be friends ignored him. Puzzled teachers wondered why it was so hard for him to memorize maps and organize charts. Cruel classmates made fun of his awkward gait and his stiff right arm. He felt the loneliness that comes from being overlooked simply because he learns differently and walks with a limp. And there was the frustration of falling through society's cracks: too "disabled" to perform certain tasks despite his strong desire to hold down a job, yet "not disabled enough" to qualify for certain forms of government aid.

Today Matt is one of the brightest, funniest, most original people I know. He's a committed Christian who's serious about his faith. He's a servant of God who ministers with inner-city kids.

He likes his steak medium well and his pizza with pepperoni. He can swallow a can of Pepsi in five large gulps. He's not afraid to tell you what he thinks, and what he thinks will make you think—if you listen well.

He's willing to talk about disabilities, but not if the conversation degenerates into pity or whining. If you want to make him angry, treat him like a wimp or a victim.

Few people ever have taught me more than Matt. Few are more deserving of my honor and respect. I can't put into words how much I love and admire him. In fact, I've decided on another meaning for C.P.—"Constant Pride."

Did I mention that Matt is my son?