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I didn't even remember this photo, or realize how perfect it was for Perry, until after he was gone.
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This post first appeared on my new blog, Too Special.
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Perry tells the story "Beautiful Rooster" at the opening
ceremony for the "Ambassador of Hope" program.
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At first glance,
he seemed to have so much going against him
that he could have been forgiven for feeling defeated; instead, Perry, 10,
smiled easily and stayed positive despite the cerebral palsy which put him in a
wheelchair, and left him in an orphanage. Nearly three years removed from my
last trip to Moscow with the Russian Orphan Lighthouse Project, I'd come 5,000
miles further east as an "Ambassador of Hope" to meet him in Beijing.
China runs on
ritual; accordingly, our orphanage-sponsored visit commenced with opening
ceremonies. Most of the kids bounced around the room before the start, but Perry
and three other children in wheelchairs sat quietly. They seemed practiced in
patience, as if waiting like afterthoughts was their birthright.
Later, Perry performed
to a little song about gratitude making life worthwhile. Quick with thanks for every kindness, he lived those lyrics. But equally, he seized thoughtful opportunities to give. He made me a bracelet, intent on stringing each bead in exacting order; carried my bag in his lap as I pushed his wheelchair; and eagerly shared his candy with his friend and me.
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Perry, front and second from right, with others kids from his
orphanage, ready to sign a song. The video of their
performance is below.
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Our second day
together, we went to the Beijing Zoo. Our group―an army of Chinese orphans with
various special needs, Americans visitors, and orphanage chaperones―was
conspicuous, and drew endless curious stares. Yet few people seemed to notice
Perry when he sought room to see the animals, and too often he was kept at a
distance. Once, by pointing urgently to a pacing lion, he "asked" me
to move him closer. As I pushed him toward the other children who'd gathered, a
caretaker stopped us for a photo. Perry smiled cooperatively until the lady
finished; when she was done, she waved us on, so he missed getting near the
lion. But he stayed smiley. He enjoyed the elephants and monkeys, and posed by
the zoo's pride, their giant pandas. But he was enthralled with the peacock,
whose tail was beauty itself. And those wings! Even in a Chinese zoo, the
peacock seemed free.
Perry must have been unusually sheltered. Everyday occurrences―things most people might never notice―appeared new to him, awe-inducing experiences to be soaked up and savored. It rained one morning as we were leaving the hotel. As I pushed him toward the bus, he looked up, mouth wide in wonder, and joyfully outstretched his arms as if receiving a gift. A well-intentioned caretaker rushed an umbrella over him. Though she meant well, her kindness seemed misspent. Someone knowledgeable said later that his orphanage kept its kids close, and guessed that, prior to our visit, Perry had never once left its grounds in the three or so years he'd been there.
I'd under-appreciated
the Americans with Disabilities Act until I spent time in China with a child in
a wheelchair. Public toilets are generally squatties, ramps infrequent, and
doorways
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Perry, with the panda far in the background
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Perry's
intelligence was evident, even with the language barrier, so it shocked me to
learn he'd never gone to school. A Chinese lady on staff with an American adoption
agency told me that since public schools seldom have facilities for students
with special needs, they often receive no education. So Perry, who had a knack
for reproducing designs he saw on paper, and told me that our president was
Obama, could read only a few Mandarin characters, a deficiency not many Chinese
seemed to find remarkable.
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Even small things, like tasting samples in a grocery store, were
new and special to Perry.
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In China,
orphans become unadoptable on their 14th birthdays. If Perry did not find a
family, the same lady said, he would leave the orphanage soon after for an
adult institution, where he would stay forever.
People much older than he would live there, too, and potential for abuse would
be rampant. At best, he might learn a handcraft to do day in, day out. He'd
have no education, no future, no chance at self-betterment, no hope for escape.
Hidden from sight, he'd be far from the collective mind of a society scarcely
bothered by niceties like wheelchair accessibility or education for the
disabled. It was already awful; then she froze me with the words "human
farm."
Our last evening
together, I interviewed him, wondering if his optimism was genuine, or if he had
some premonition of what the Chinese lady had prophesied. We asked a question,
standard for orphans I'd advocated for: what career would he pursue? But as
soon as we asked, I felt so cruel. It was grievously apparent he'd never been
encouraged to believe in a
future for himself at all. How could he fathom an
answer? He could not even fathom the question.
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Perry smiled almost all the time.
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For all his
cheeriness, this endearing boy finally teared up when asked if he wanted a
family. He told me he'd "try [his] best to be in a family," and that
he hoped to warm the hearts of the parents who might adopt him. He sighed
deeply when I asked what he would do to change the world. Eventually he said
he'd help his parents, but added he never dreamed he could change the world.
Having been assured beforehand by the agency that nothing was off-limits, I asked
the question that exposed his soul: what was life like in a wheelchair? Looking
down, he softly shared his fondest wish: to be active himself, and to have
wings to fly.
Perry is everything
wonderful that orphan blurbs tritely bandy about: kind-hearted, intelligent,
helpful, smiley. But those descriptors shed little light on a soul who has consciously
made the best of a situation so heartrending―so beneath his abilities―because it
is the only choice he sees. So he smiles through gut-wrenching indignities;
through lack of education; and through marginalization by a culture which
assumes he has little to live for, and nothing to offer. He can keep the smiles
coming, until he mentions the family he yearns for. And those wings!
Is there a
family with wings to spare? Perry aches to fly.
*******
Perry's file is currently on China's shared list, meaning that interested families may adopt him through any Hague-accredited agency they wish. World Association for Children and Parents (WACAP, www.wacap.org), an agency we have worked with and loved for three of our adoptions, offers a $4,000 grant for Perry's adoption, based on funds availability, to families meeting income eligibility requirements. A $5,000 grant
toward Perry's adoption is being offered by a church, good friends of Too
Special, L.L.C., to be disbursed shortly before travel. The church grant
is offered to Christian families only, and requires a simple application and
approval process. Altogether, up to $9,000 in grants are available for Perry's adoption to families meeting eligibility requirements. For
more information on Perry, or to learn about the grants available for this
specific child, please contact Becky De Nooy at (616) 245-3216.
Videos of Perry
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