27

"On the day that Clifford was born, on the day that Clifford was born, on the day that Clifford was born,the angels sang and they blew on their horns, and they danced, they danced; they smiled and raised up their hands on the day, on the day that Clifford was born." --song from Cliff's Red Grammar CD.

Remembrance is sweetest oftentimes from a distance. We can recall with more clarity the wonderful and essential parts of a memory, especially when that memory, once bittersweet, has released its hold on the bitter aspects of that time.
I turned 27 in October of 1984. I was five months pregnant with my first child. It was a time of such excitement among my family members. There had not been a baby born among my siblings for fifteen years. This baby would be only the second grandchild/nephew. The whole universe revolved around the anticipation of his arrival.
Naturally, once he got here, and everyone got over the shock that he had Down syndrome, the spoiling began in earnest. Little blue shirts and tiny socks, teddy bears and a clown with a sweet face, the softest blankets, and all the accoutrements that a baby could need--it was all somehow contained in our tiny apartment on Leicester Street.
He learned his first sign at one. Milk. (take each of your hands and squeeze them, open and close, as if you were milking a cow, alternate as if you have one cow's teat in each hand) Other words followed--snack, juice, mommy, daddy, more--until by the time he was four, he had acquired a bank of approximately 350 words.
When he learned to walk, what a celebration that was! It seemed to take forever. When he finally took those first tentative steps alone, he was
twenty-two-and- a- half months old.
He started preschool at two, kindergarten at seven, middle school at almost fifteen, and then spent six years in high school. He was a pioneer each time, being the first student successfully educated in inclusive classrooms in our town. His greatest success was never academic; it was in everything he taught to others.

His birthday is today. He has now reached the age I was when I gave birth to him! Where did the time go? The days seemed long, but the years flew by.

This morning I went to wake him for work. In repose, he appears almost angelic, not at all like the bear he was when he went to bed last night. As I lifted the blinds and let in the sun, he sat up straight from a deep sleep, the way he always wakes up. There's no in between--just like that, from prone to sitting up in two seconds flat.

"Good morning, Cliff", I say softly. "Today is February 28 and today is your birthday." He sits up a little straighter and smiles sleepily, reaching one arm out to hug me. His birthday is the best day of the year, better even, than Christmas. We choose a favorite shirt to wear to work. He loves his job at the cafeteria at our local high school, where he helps hand out milk cartons and water bottles to the students, loads up the cart to bring the snacks where they belong, and fills up the juice machine. After he graduated in 2007, the cafeteria ladies couldn't bear to let him go. He's been working there twice a week ever since. Sandy and Joanne and Lou will wish him a happy birthday and give him a ridiculously age-inappropriate animated stuffed animal(which he will love).

The Taylor tradition is to take the birthday boy or girl out to dinner at the restaurant of their choice. TGIFriday's chicken and pasta bruschetta wins out. Last year the staff thought he was so adorable, his dinner was free.
Afterwards it's home for his favorite lemon cake and a pile of presents so high that my husband will look at me and sigh; I confess to going overboard with the  charge card.
Cliff will sit in the lotus position (he's oddly flexible this way) on his chair at the head of the kitchen table. This seat usually ascribed to one in authority is not accidental. Cliff's pretty much in charge around here.
Then we sing happy birthday to the accompaniment of his grandma's piano CD, a tradition of many, many years.
I think his favorite present will be the karaoke machine. All five of us will crowd around it admiring and exclaiming and doing a little singing.

He is truly king for a day.

He'll be in bed by 10, asleep by the time I get to the third page of Mercy Watson to the Rescue. The lights turned out, I'll kiss him on the top of his head and tiptoe out.

It seems the more things change, the more they stay the same. This boy, a child at heart, but a gentle man simultaneously, has single-handedly wrapped his love around each of us, making us better people and a more bonded family than we might have been. We would do anything for him.

Tonight when I step out of his room and close the door, I predict I'll look back, like I always do, at February 28, 1985 and remember it all, from start to finish. And I will look heavenward and smile.