Amos was born with a spate of medical issues that impeded his development and growth. Upon his birth, we were thrown into the world of therapies and doctor’s appointments. As parents, we had entered into an unfamiliar world. Amos was a regular in the ICU and the hospital became our hangout. He had problems with hypotonia (low muscle strength), low gross and fine motor skills, had difficulty speaking and feeding. The learning curve was steep and wrought with fears, anxieties and tears. We raced to get him into early intervention, and in the 10th month of his life, we did.
Now—7 years and 6 months later—Amos graduates from preschool.
This milestone is bittersweet. While it marks the beginning of an exciting (and rather harrowing) stage in life, we are also saying goodbye to Rainbow Centre and St James’ Church Kindergarten—his 2 other homes that had given him so much love, warmth and support over the past 7 years.
At 10 months old, Amos hadn’t learnt to crawl, babble and even had trouble holding up his head. He was a quiet, queer little creature with a feeding tube up his nose, beady darting eyes and smiles that filled his face. Sessions at Rainbow Centre were once a week then—and I remember ferrying him in the baby carrier to school and back, attending classes with him and picking up essential skills on how to carry on the intervention efforts at home. By and by, classes increased to twice weekly, then to the full school week. Amos gained strength, crawling first, then finally—at 3 years old—he took his first few unassisted steps.
Now at 7 years of age, the sprightly little imp is running headlong into teachers and kicking a ball with his elder brother.
Unlike most children, pre-school for Amos meant taking a path less travelled to get to where he is. Yet, God has provided during these tough times and led us to Rainbow Centre where we began an amazing journey of intervention, and then St James’ Church Kindergarten, where Amos was given the opportunity to experience mainstream learning amongst his neurotypical peers.
Due to his medical issues, we were discouraged from enrolling Amos in a mainstream preschool. We did not dare dream big for him. But weaning off the feeding tube brought a ray of hope, and Amos’ tenacity at improving his walking gave us courage. We revisited the possibility of a mainstream preschool, and with scarcely any expectations, we enquired and never looked back since.
The time Amos spent immersed in the mainstream preschool education was as fulfilling as it was challenging. In the early years he shunned stairs, haggling to be carried or he would flop and drop on the floor and throw tantrums. He displayed the same wilful behaviour in transiting from one activity to the next. Due to his impaired ability to chew, his food had to be cut up to prevent choking. He relied on sign language to communicate. We (the school staff and us) experienced our fair share of Amos’ antics, his struggles with learning, communicating and toileting, but saw also a path strewn with warmth and acceptance.
Teachers embraced and included him. They taught the children that, despite our differences, everyone is loved in God’s eyes, and how Amos needed more time to learn, walk and do stuff that came easily to most kids. Whenever we asked the teachers if they needed help, they assured us that they could manage and that Amos was in good hands. It was also enlightening to hear of how the bus aunties had for years, been patiently walking him from the bus to class. It bore fruit. One day I sent Amos to school, when he struggled to break free of my hand. Not wanting another tussle, I let go, reluctantly.
“他可以的!” (“He can do it!”) was what the bus aunty told me to encourage the frazzled mum I was. And so we watched him totter away, confidently scale the series of steps, stream into school with the rest of the children, find the assembly area and stand where he ought to wait—completely unassisted.
I was speechless, having realised how much less I had expected of him and how involved everyone was in his development—from teachers to bus drivers. Such was a rare treasure and an uplifting display of care and love. And I could not express enough gratitude for them.
“Fun!” was always Amos’ reply whenever I ask him how school was. In listing his best friends at school, he would unfailingly list also the names of his teachers—a testament to their efforts and success. We were heartened to learn how Amos’ presence in a mainstream preschool conveyed a message of empathy and understanding. Today, we are told that Amos has found bosom buddies who looked out for him, played with him and cared for him in school. Despite his limited verbal ability, his friends were able to understand him and communicate with him! He was assisted, befriended and loved. And what a joyous achievement it would be if these baby steps could blossom into enduring values of empathy and love for the next generation.
As we close this chapter of Amos’ life, our hearts overflow with thankfulness for everyone who has been a part of this amazing journey with us, and especially for the teachers, past and present, who took the leap of faith and went above and beyond their duties in the classroom and therapy rooms to build up a child with Down syndrome; at the same time being a tremendous source of support to us as parents. Without Rainbow Centre, the tough early years would have overwhelmed us. You have been our sanctuary and stronghold. Without St James’ Church Kindergarten, we might never know how far Amos could go. You have laid the way towards greater achievements.
It is with a heavy heart that we must say goodbye to both communities we hold so dear. But for Amos, a new adventure awaits. With trepidation and a huge dose of faith, we will be giving him a shot at a mainstream primary school. The independence required of him will be greater, and the intellectual gap will widen. We cannot see what lies ahead, though we have been called to tread upon uncertainty—albeit responsibly, and with safety nets in place. This means managing expectations and being prepared to reverse our decisions and retrace our steps. After all, as one teacher put it: let’s not forget to protect one of Amos’ greatest gifts—his joyfulness.
These 7 years have taught us to trust God even more, to journey one step at a time, on a path illuminated only by the lamp to our feet. Amid the uncertainty, we are certain of one thing—that in the Lord’s time, Amos will find his place.
“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.” Ps 36:7
