Retarded?
“Stupid is, as stupid does”
Forest Gump
Retarded is what they called him. When they said the word it seemed natural, not derogatory or mean spirited. Just a simple recognition of something lacking, as measured by what is called “normal”. Of course, they suggested he be become a ward of the state and shipped off to some place for “those kind of people”, the retarded ones. More importantly, Franklin Troy Warren was my brother. In reality he was my half brother, the son of my mother and an unknown gentleman whose name I have never heard nor care to hear. Nevertheless, in my mind and in all of our hearts he was greatly loved and fully accepted as a brother. Dad never thought of him in anyway, other than a son -- fully accepted. Whatever happened to him took place in his infancy. Spiking fever and resulting seizures was what we were told caused his “retardation”.
I remember pictures of Frank playing outside and riding a horse when he was young, around 10 years old. It is “funny” that we really never consider the impact of a human life upon our own lives until they are gone.
When I was little, before Dad passed away our relationship (mine and Franks) was not that memorable. My memories of him during that time frame are sketchy—some make me really sad. For instance, Frank had a room all his own, while I had to sleep with another brother. Yet, Frank’s “room” wasn’t really a room. The little white house on Price Street had a back porch that was hardly a room. Plastic covered over the screen to prevent wind and rain from coming in, but winter had to have brutal. He would always have 3-4 heavy quilts to keep him warm. Conversely, summer time had to have been the extreme opposite. To this day I struggle with a sense of shame when thinking about how he was relegated to the back porch.
Later, after Dad died, our relationship began to develop. To be more precise, God began a deep and abiding work in my pre-adolescent heart and Frank was a major player in God’s plan.
Those years right after Dad died brought about horrific change in our household. Thinking back it was much worse than I thought at the time. Soon after Dad died we moved to 111 Hall Street. How I remember that address I will never understand --strange for sure. Sara married just before Dad died, during her senior year of High School. Clarence had joined the Air Force against Dad wishes (a story that deserves it own space) So, suddenly, that little over crowded house was full of just Richard, Mom, Frank and I. We were all that was left. So, I assume to escape the memories, we moved about 1 mile away. Frank had his own room this time—not a porch. It had walls and a window. Richard and I shared a room. Somehow I ended up with my own bed.
Household dynamics changed dramatically too. Mom’s work schedule had to change to accommodate taking care of Frank. She had to take a job on 2nd shift in order to be at home during the day, while Richard and I were in school. Richard was in High School and I was in the 5th grade.
One major adjustment was that in order for Mom to get to work on time I had to get out of school early every day so I could care for Frank. In my mind this was a really good deal, for me. School was not my strong suite. I was known for trying anything to get out of school. . Like I said, in the beginning I thought it was a pretty sweet deal. It turned out to be something very difficult for a 5th grader to deal with. I found myself being at home alone with Frank until way late most evenings. I cooked sometimes, cleaned the house and managed what I told as best as I could. I was there to make sure Frank was taken care of…Only God could make something good come out of this situation. There were many evenings that I was terribly scared… and lonely… I was only 10! One evening, I was so scared that I was carrying a gun and it went off. Mom never knew how that hole found its way in the kitchen ceiling.
Frank during this period also went through some serious changes. He was already struggling with going blind and around this time frame it seemed to escalate. He had these special glasses he was to wear that were suppose to help correct some of the issues with his vision --- but it was too little to late.
To be honest, caring for Frank wasn’t that hard… it was just that I didn’t have a clue has to do it. So, I learned along the way. Experimentation without supervision is a very dangerous. I could hardly take care of myself – and here I was caring for Frank. Later, in my adult years I apologized to him for how I treated him at times. It seemed like a blink of an eye and several years passed. During that time I was impacted – Frank became very precious to me. Yes! There were times that I really struggled with anger -- feelings of neglect and abandonment – thinking how “unfair” life really is to ME! Why do I have to stay home all the time? A question I must have voiced a million times. Nonetheless, caring for Frank became a source of personal pride – we became close – he didn’t say much except when he wanted or needed something. There weren’t deep conversations about the complexities of life, sports or anything else for that matter --- we just did life TOGETHER. Today, I see it as such a grand privilege to have had that time with him.
There are a myriad of lessons, and unexpected gifts that came to me through that time. Those are gifts and lessons that only the gracious and sovereign heart of a loving God could bestow on someone like me. Certainly, adolescence blinded me to God’s sovereignty in those days, but today they are treasured beyond gold or silver.
Today, when I hear the word “retarded”, first I consider the source. Then in the back of my mind I see my brother and I think BLESSING! Frank wasn’t retarded, what he lacked in “normalcy”, was more than made up for in grace and kindness. No one made you feel more accepted, loved and treasured than him. That was his God qualities flowing toward each of us. He could really get excited to see you –especially if you had been away for a while. He would raise his arms real high and get figgity and start calling your name wanting you to come close so he could hug you and hold you tight. When he had you in his arms he would just warmly pat you on the back --- just the memory makes me feel loved and brings a joy to my heart that can’t be explained.
In January of 1996, about 2 am one morning I was jolted out of bed to the phone ringing. It was my sister Sara calling to say that Frank had died. He had died in his sleep. I can not remember a time ever that I have cried so long and so hard. It was one thing to feel the pain and the sense of loss. For me it was more, much more. My pain was magnified, because of all that I had been given through him. I was eight thousand miles away and my greatest friend was gone. Today, without a doubt I know my personhood was uniquely shape in some ways through him.
It has been more than 10 years now. The memories of that flight stateside and of the funeral are long and faded into a mist in my memory. But, the one thing that is very clear is the imprint of his life upon my own. “Retarded”—no way!
I have taken great comfort in that Frank passed away in his sleep. I know that may sound a bit unusual, but to me it was a precious gift and a huge comfort. I never wanted to see him suffer for a long period of time at his passing. It was something that I thought about deeply as a child. When I was a child, church wasn’t my thing – but the one thing that caused me to be sensitive to God was Frank. As a child, I would pray at night that Frank would not suffer in his death and that he would die in his sleep. I can’t tell you how many times I would lay in bed and cry for him and ask God to make sure he died in his sleep. When Sara told me he had died – her first words were that he “died in his sleep”. It was like God said to me ---- I heard you – I was listening – He is with me now – you will see him soon.
It is funny, that in my minds eye even today I can see Frank sitting in his favorite chair – my heart is saddened for only a moment – I eventually start to smile – because of all that God did in me through Frank. God’s greatest gifts are often wrapped less than perfect (less than perfect from our human perspective)… totally perfect from God’s sovereign perspective.
________________________________________________________________________
I close with a simple thought from John11. A crowed asked Jesus one day, who sinned in regards to the blindness of a young man. They were looking to find fault – Jesus said, NO ONE! Then he made an incredible statement --- He was born blind in order than God may be glorified.
Here is what I have learned: What appears to be God’s cruelty in a life like my brother Frank --- is sufficient evidence of his kindness to us.
“Stupid is, as stupid does”
Forest Gump
Retarded is what they called him. When they said the word it seemed natural, not derogatory or mean spirited. Just a simple recognition of something lacking, as measured by what is called “normal”. Of course, they suggested he be become a ward of the state and shipped off to some place for “those kind of people”, the retarded ones. More importantly, Franklin Troy Warren was my brother. In reality he was my half brother, the son of my mother and an unknown gentleman whose name I have never heard nor care to hear. Nevertheless, in my mind and in all of our hearts he was greatly loved and fully accepted as a brother. Dad never thought of him in anyway, other than a son -- fully accepted. Whatever happened to him took place in his infancy. Spiking fever and resulting seizures was what we were told caused his “retardation”.
I remember pictures of Frank playing outside and riding a horse when he was young, around 10 years old. It is “funny” that we really never consider the impact of a human life upon our own lives until they are gone.
When I was little, before Dad passed away our relationship (mine and Franks) was not that memorable. My memories of him during that time frame are sketchy—some make me really sad. For instance, Frank had a room all his own, while I had to sleep with another brother. Yet, Frank’s “room” wasn’t really a room. The little white house on Price Street had a back porch that was hardly a room. Plastic covered over the screen to prevent wind and rain from coming in, but winter had to have brutal. He would always have 3-4 heavy quilts to keep him warm. Conversely, summer time had to have been the extreme opposite. To this day I struggle with a sense of shame when thinking about how he was relegated to the back porch.
Later, after Dad died, our relationship began to develop. To be more precise, God began a deep and abiding work in my pre-adolescent heart and Frank was a major player in God’s plan.
Those years right after Dad died brought about horrific change in our household. Thinking back it was much worse than I thought at the time. Soon after Dad died we moved to 111 Hall Street. How I remember that address I will never understand --strange for sure. Sara married just before Dad died, during her senior year of High School. Clarence had joined the Air Force against Dad wishes (a story that deserves it own space) So, suddenly, that little over crowded house was full of just Richard, Mom, Frank and I. We were all that was left. So, I assume to escape the memories, we moved about 1 mile away. Frank had his own room this time—not a porch. It had walls and a window. Richard and I shared a room. Somehow I ended up with my own bed.
Household dynamics changed dramatically too. Mom’s work schedule had to change to accommodate taking care of Frank. She had to take a job on 2nd shift in order to be at home during the day, while Richard and I were in school. Richard was in High School and I was in the 5th grade.
One major adjustment was that in order for Mom to get to work on time I had to get out of school early every day so I could care for Frank. In my mind this was a really good deal, for me. School was not my strong suite. I was known for trying anything to get out of school. . Like I said, in the beginning I thought it was a pretty sweet deal. It turned out to be something very difficult for a 5th grader to deal with. I found myself being at home alone with Frank until way late most evenings. I cooked sometimes, cleaned the house and managed what I told as best as I could. I was there to make sure Frank was taken care of…Only God could make something good come out of this situation. There were many evenings that I was terribly scared… and lonely… I was only 10! One evening, I was so scared that I was carrying a gun and it went off. Mom never knew how that hole found its way in the kitchen ceiling.
Frank during this period also went through some serious changes. He was already struggling with going blind and around this time frame it seemed to escalate. He had these special glasses he was to wear that were suppose to help correct some of the issues with his vision --- but it was too little to late.
To be honest, caring for Frank wasn’t that hard… it was just that I didn’t have a clue has to do it. So, I learned along the way. Experimentation without supervision is a very dangerous. I could hardly take care of myself – and here I was caring for Frank. Later, in my adult years I apologized to him for how I treated him at times. It seemed like a blink of an eye and several years passed. During that time I was impacted – Frank became very precious to me. Yes! There were times that I really struggled with anger -- feelings of neglect and abandonment – thinking how “unfair” life really is to ME! Why do I have to stay home all the time? A question I must have voiced a million times. Nonetheless, caring for Frank became a source of personal pride – we became close – he didn’t say much except when he wanted or needed something. There weren’t deep conversations about the complexities of life, sports or anything else for that matter --- we just did life TOGETHER. Today, I see it as such a grand privilege to have had that time with him.
There are a myriad of lessons, and unexpected gifts that came to me through that time. Those are gifts and lessons that only the gracious and sovereign heart of a loving God could bestow on someone like me. Certainly, adolescence blinded me to God’s sovereignty in those days, but today they are treasured beyond gold or silver.
Today, when I hear the word “retarded”, first I consider the source. Then in the back of my mind I see my brother and I think BLESSING! Frank wasn’t retarded, what he lacked in “normalcy”, was more than made up for in grace and kindness. No one made you feel more accepted, loved and treasured than him. That was his God qualities flowing toward each of us. He could really get excited to see you –especially if you had been away for a while. He would raise his arms real high and get figgity and start calling your name wanting you to come close so he could hug you and hold you tight. When he had you in his arms he would just warmly pat you on the back --- just the memory makes me feel loved and brings a joy to my heart that can’t be explained.
In January of 1996, about 2 am one morning I was jolted out of bed to the phone ringing. It was my sister Sara calling to say that Frank had died. He had died in his sleep. I can not remember a time ever that I have cried so long and so hard. It was one thing to feel the pain and the sense of loss. For me it was more, much more. My pain was magnified, because of all that I had been given through him. I was eight thousand miles away and my greatest friend was gone. Today, without a doubt I know my personhood was uniquely shape in some ways through him.
It has been more than 10 years now. The memories of that flight stateside and of the funeral are long and faded into a mist in my memory. But, the one thing that is very clear is the imprint of his life upon my own. “Retarded”—no way!
I have taken great comfort in that Frank passed away in his sleep. I know that may sound a bit unusual, but to me it was a precious gift and a huge comfort. I never wanted to see him suffer for a long period of time at his passing. It was something that I thought about deeply as a child. When I was a child, church wasn’t my thing – but the one thing that caused me to be sensitive to God was Frank. As a child, I would pray at night that Frank would not suffer in his death and that he would die in his sleep. I can’t tell you how many times I would lay in bed and cry for him and ask God to make sure he died in his sleep. When Sara told me he had died – her first words were that he “died in his sleep”. It was like God said to me ---- I heard you – I was listening – He is with me now – you will see him soon.
It is funny, that in my minds eye even today I can see Frank sitting in his favorite chair – my heart is saddened for only a moment – I eventually start to smile – because of all that God did in me through Frank. God’s greatest gifts are often wrapped less than perfect (less than perfect from our human perspective)… totally perfect from God’s sovereign perspective.
________________________________________________________________________
I close with a simple thought from John11. A crowed asked Jesus one day, who sinned in regards to the blindness of a young man. They were looking to find fault – Jesus said, NO ONE! Then he made an incredible statement --- He was born blind in order than God may be glorified.
Here is what I have learned: What appears to be God’s cruelty in a life like my brother Frank --- is sufficient evidence of his kindness to us.
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