November 10, 2005
My Dad's Better Than Your Dad

Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

I rival Marsha Brady for two things: long blond hair, and for which one of us has “Father of the Year.”

In her early years, before the swollen nose and cheerleading competition, Marsha wrote a letter about her father, which actually led to her untimely grounding. Ultimately, Mike Brady learned his lesson about trusting his children, oh did he ever.

My letter goes like this:

My father has seven children: a four-decade mission he never expected, but fully accepted.

Each of us is the “favorite” to him, each of us equally valued and nurtured. But one of us truly holds the key to his heart; although I am somewhat of a “daddy’s girl,” it isn’t me, it’s my younger sister.

She is one of quadruplets and has severe cerebral palsy. In fourteen years she’s had fourteen surgeries. She has limited movement, cannot walk or talk, and is fed through a feeding tube in her stomach, but she smiles and laughs as much as any of us.

When I was in school the special needs students were kept from the mix. They spent their days at the opposite end of the long hallway, far from “regular kids” who never saw or spoke to them. I caught glimpses a few times, and I must admit I didn’t like what I saw.

Back then, we were unintentionally taught to fear special needs. It was weird and different, unfortunate and sad. We were the lucky ones; they were the handicapped.

Schools have changed immensely over the years to fit the needs of these truly special children, and my sister enjoys bowling, horseback riding and many friendships.

She lives with my incredibly loving family, but my dad brings the purest sparkle to her eyes. He gets her up every morning, pushes her on daily walks in her wheelchair, making every moment with her a fun game. There is much to learn and enjoy from the handicapped.

The non-profit organization Suite Dreams recently furnished and decorated her bedroom, the place where she spends most of her childhood, at no cost to my parents. My father, a humble and warm soul, was asked to give a speech at their annual black tie event. He complained about the tux part, but assiduously composed his thoughts about his daughter: a relatively simple task given he is constantly thinking of her.

After the event, I was proud to hear how many people were touched by his testimony, and I have to say, Marsha, your dad is no match for mine.