Through my sister Jane, who has Down’s syndrome, I learned how to listen not just with my ears but my entire being
I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area with my only sister, Jane, who has Down’s syndrome. We are just 14 months apart. She was born premature, her weight dropping after birth to less than four pounds. The doctors sent her home to die: that’s what they did with kids like her back in the 1960s. But she defied and even thrived.
Growing up, my sister – unable to contain her oversized tongue – steered her eyes down sideways and hard from the shame. I witnessed her discomfort too many times to not remain vigilant, playing defence for a lifetime. I inherited little choice but to side with those marginalized.
