Errol on his third birthday

The Real Errol

Everyone has a name their parents give them, and an actual name. If you are lucky the two are one and the same. We got our first son’s name right. His given name is Owen and his actual name is Owen. It could be that Owen grew into his name, or it could be we picked right. Who knows? What we do know is that we didn’t do as well when we erroneously named our second son Errol. Don’t get me wrong; Errol is a great name, just not for him. It’s not that his name hasn’t grown on me or on him, but still, something is slightly misaligned. It could be that Errol is an adult name and our son is something of a perpetual child (with the good and bad that I imagine that will bring: cuddles at age twenty, and dirty diapers) I’ve been trying to figure our Errol’s real name and I’d love to hear what you think (try the fancy comments feature of this blog, or take the Errol poll just to the right of this post). Having hit a developmental spurt, the Little Man has been more mischievous than ever (pulling things off the table, grabbing hair, setting up ponzi schemes at school). It makes me think his name might actually be Max. You never know. But don’t worry; we don’t want to confuse our boy so we call him by his given name: Errol. He smiles back.

It’s not just names that are not always in harmony with reality. Everyone also has a chronological age and an actual age. For example, by the calendar I’m forty, while in reality I’m 19 (don’t tell the bartender). Errol, on the other hand, just turned three, but in reality he is 78 - an old soul. And it’s no wonder he’s a septuagenarian, Max has been through more at the tender age of 3 than most people go through in a lifetime, and it’s cultivated a beautiful patience and wisdom in “Errol”. One of my great hopes for Errol is that one-day he will live into his real age, and with the medical advances we make every day, it just might happen.

Well, I’m off to get a new tattoo and hit the tanning bed.

-Julia: age 19

Space

I’ve read that when some people lack a sense (sight, hearing) their other senses become more acute: the highly sensitive hearing of blind people. Sometimes we compensate for things we lack. Sometimes what we lack defines what we have. Sometimes I write things that don’t make any sense.

This afternoon, Errol visited his accupressurist, Sarah Girard. (We should all be so lucky to have a healer like Sarah in our lives). I sat and watched Errol as Sarah worked silently on Errol’s sweet little body. As is often the case at Sarah’s, the room radiated with energy; flowing between Sarah and Errol, and throughout the space. I felt mesmerized, entranced, completely still. I passed gas.

Well I didn’t really pass gas, but there was something very big happening in that room. Something my senses could feel, but my brain couldn’t quantify (sort of like tofu).

My brain is very busy. I’ve got two kids, one wife (which is a lot easier than two wives and one kid, I’ve heard), a full time job, this damn blog to write, and a crazy as hell Australian Shepherd (that’s a dog, not a person – and you can have her if you want. Just call 624-1869. She’s yours) As I was saying, my brain is really full. See. It’s nice to have a busy brain. It’s nice to think. (Although if you couldn’t think, you wouldn’t know it!). But it’s also wonderful to taste rich dark chocolate, to sit out in the sun on the vernal equinox (today!), to hear John Coltrane. Kissing is good, too.

We humans really like our brains, and there’s a lot to like, but my goodness, it’s good just to sit sometimes. And the feeling I had while I sat with Errol, feeling the energy (whatever the hell that is) wash through the room, listening to Errol’s happy noises, feeling great love, just sitting and inhabiting that space. It was beautiful.

Errol lives in that space.

If we’d just take the time, we could learn a lot from him.

Errol is Three

Can you believe Errol is 3? Amazing, no? We are so lucky to have him!

Errol has gone through another great evolutionary leap. He wants so much to stand!
We hold him by his shoulders and he straightens his little legs out. Now he can hold his weight for thirty seconds. It's a real huge step towards walking. He is thrilled!

Errol is also a lot more vocal these days, and we're especially happy about the gggggg sounds he's making (apparently a marker of progress.) These are happy days for us as we watch our boys grow (Owen is learning to read and write and is so proud of his new discoveries!) Stay tuned for more Errol photographs from his annual birthday fashion shoot.

Although he is changing, none of these advancements have kept him from being the same old happiest person in the room that he's always been.

Frustration = Progress

Frustration is the root of all progress.
Errol is throwing tantrums these days.
We are thrilled.
We put him down on the floor for just a second and he pulls at his hair, flaps his arms, and screams.
Errol is so frustrated. We are so happy. And we think it’s going to lead somewhere good.
For the past three years, Errol’s desires have been mostly negative:
No wetness. No hunger. No pain.
This is perhaps his first positive desire. Errol really wants to walk. It’s making him mad. And that’s just great with us.

Theory # 27 about why Errol is so damn happy

The other day, a radio show called The People’s Pharmacy focused on the issue of near-death experiences (NDE). Everything has an acronym (EHAA). The research done on NDEs has yielded fascinating results about consciousness and how these experiences affect people’s lives, but still, I don't think I'll volunteer for a study. People who have experiences near-death experiences undergo dramatic changes in values and beliefs, including a greater appreciation for life, greater compassion for others, a heightened sense of purpose and self-understanding, and a desire to learn. Time after time, children who have had an NDE have shown tendencies towards heightened altruism, happiness, and connections to others. Why is this? Do they feel lucky to be alive?

One NDE researcher conjectures that we see ourselves as a bag of bones with all our physical identities attached: man, American, adult, organ grinder, Hindu, etc., and that when we start to slip away from our body we see how ephemeral those identities are and what separation they can cause. When we come back, we then begin to see ourselves as part of something bigger, something less material. Of course, Errol is just a pup, with a very different consciousness that my own (I think). I don’t imagine he was listing his identities as he slipped into (and, thank god, out of) the hereafter on day 1. But whatever happened, Errol has been saved from death more than once and he is the happiest, hoppiest person I’ve ever known. And he certainly isn’t preoccupied with his identity.

You can hear the story for yourself. Certainly, some of the NDE crowd out there are quacks, but still, the science is pretty amazing and the stories are compelling.

Errol Clifford Slideshow

Moravians at the gate

Old Salem is an 18th century Moravian settlement a ten-minute walk from our house. Much like Colonial Williamsburg and the state of West Virginia, the streets and homes of historic Old Salem are populated by pilgrims in colonial garb. As you enter their world, the ersatz colonists call you “sister” and “brother” to make you feel like you are either back in the eighteenth century or in a Southern Baptist church. And unlike the Moravians of yore, these old-school interlopers get to go home at the end of the day and watch their satellite TVs and flush their toilets. Despite the fact that they had no toaster ovens or microwaves, the Moravians had a pretty good life.

On our tour, we watched a gunsmith work on a rifle that he said would take 125 man-hours to complete. I’ve never spent 125 hours on making anything (unless you count Susie Mandelbaum!) Not only did the gunsmith make the gun by hand, he made the tools that made the gun. “Yeah,” I asked him, “But did you make the tools that made the tools that made the gun?” Slacker! Living in a world of specialization, I image how wonderful it must have been to make something from start to finish, to see it come to life, to engrave your name into it, to use it to shoot a cow.

For all their faults, The Moravians lived life at a very human pace. As we walked through this advertisement for stress-relief, I could feel time slow down (maybe it was the taco I had for dinner). I breathed easily and drank in the pace of this beautiful place.

Errol is retarded, or as people say around here, “a little slow.” Most of us value speed, and when it comes to intelligence, slow is definitely bad. But I think, most of the time, slow is better than fast:

But when you think about it, which would you rather have?

Fast food: slow food
Fast conversation: slow conversation
Fast nap: slow nap

OK, stupid question.

Remember, at the finish line of life is death, so there’s really no rush. We could all use a little more slow in our lives, and Errol helps us quiet our frenetic days. After all, Errol doesn’t have a to do list, he doesn’t have goals to achieve each day, he doesn’t rush from task to task. He enjoys it when I hold him by his legs and run around the house chasing the dogs, “he, he, heh!!!!” He loves it when we take half an hour to eat applesauce. “he, he, heh!!!!” He loves it when we take a long slow bath, “he, he, heh!!!!” Errol enjoys where his is so much that he is in no rush to leave.

Apart from his wheelchair (had those Moravians never heard of handicapped ramps?) Errol fit right into the 18th century. We had a beautiful day at Old Salem, and if we are patient enough, Errol will help keep the best parts of the past and the present right here with us.

Back to School

Errol loves school. Today was the first day back to school after the winter holiday and Errol was happy as a clam.

We pulled into the parking lot (late, of course), got the wheelchair out of the back of the car, peeled our little scholar out of his car seat, and then settled him into his wheelchair. As soon as Errol looked around and realized where he was, the professor broke into a huge grin and laughed and laughed. Errol loves school, and no wonder - today he got to sing, eat yogurt, go to the motor lab to play on cool swings and tumble mats, see his brother, drink infant formula mixed with hydra-aid (try it with a shot of vodka), take a power nap, and play with his wonderful teachers.

Errol fell right to sleep tonight, exhausted from his big wonderful day. He’ll probably dream about school tonight (what does Errol dream about?) and greet his school with another round of laughter tomorrow morning.

Hanukkah Wishes

We celebrate Hanukkah, we’re not Jewish (it’s complicated. Don't even ask about Ramadan!)

Owen gave us a list of his Hanukkah wishes this year.
I wish Transformers were real (they’re not?)
I wish I could eat my bottom (who doesn’t? He really said this.)
I wish Errol could walk and talk (we do, too!)

Owen loves his brother, and he’d love it if Errol could get up and play with him.
But his wish isn’t just selfish, Owen knows how great it is to run, jump, scream and sing (and it really is, try it some time, really, try it), and he wishes that Errol could do all the things he can. We do too.

There is hope. Always hope. One day…

Arc

Errol has a good day pretty much every day, which is good, except that every day is pretty much the same. Here are your socks, Errol: smile. Here is your wheelchair, Errol: smile. Dick Cheney is coming for dinner, Errol: smile. If variety is the spice of life, Errol’s happy life has been pretty bland.

We went to the zoo. It was a sunny and warm late December day. The chimpanzees howled at each other as they bounced off the trees. The patas monkeys pranced around their faux patas monkey habitat like little princes. Even the elephants seemed happy (though how would you really know?) The polar bear, on the other hand, was pissed. It was finally getting cold and then, bam, 70 degrees. Then again, it might not have been the weather. Mr. Bear is usually pretty sour (wouldn’t you be, after all?) Poor fellow, stuck behind glass, day after day, no paid vacation, no benefits, and all those round Americans, waltzing right past him, like hors d'oeuvres in tennis shoes, that he will never ever eat.

So far, big events like Christmas haven’t really registered with Errol. As we left for the zoo, I felt a little guilty about taking Errol on a trip far from home when he would probably be just as happy sitting in the car in the driveway. But still, I haven’t given up on special moments, and so the trips, birthday parties, and Hanukah presents (he’s not even Jewish) continue, with the hope that one day they will sink in and slowly but surely give his life a bit of an arc.

Today was a departure from past trips to the zoo, beach, museum, fair, gun show, gem and rock convention, tribal meeting, debutante ball, Racquetball Hall of fame. As soon as we got to the zoo, we headed straight for the seal-viewing tank (we watch the seals, not the other way around. I think) I held little Errol inches from the thick glass, and every time a seal would glide past us, Errol would wiggle in my arms as he let out his little belly laugh, “heh, heh, heh!!!” Something about these graceful beasts gliding through the water, tickled little Errol, and tourqued the arc of his day.

Errol smiled, Errol laughed, Errol watched his hand, Errol did all the normal things he does, but when you added them up, this was not just a normal day: it was bigger, grander, more special than usual. Maybe it was the seals, maybe it was the surprise weather, maybe Errol’s memory is starting to take hold, or maybe Errol’s just getting older. Whatever it was, today was a special day for all of us (except for that hot and hungry polar bear).