Robert didn’t walk or talk until he was nearly
two years old. After extended testing, professionals from our local health
department told us that he would be quite slow, possibly retarded.
I knew Robert wasn’t quick about anything he
did, but he tried. Even after attending two years of preschool, the tests showed
that at 5 ½ years old, he still wasn’t ready for kindergarten. Thankfully, they
placed him in a "Young Five" program. Although most of the children were a year
younger, since Robert was still quite small, he fit right in.
Robert was very quiet and shy. He observed
more than he participated. But, the school board couldn’t hold back anymore.
Robert was now 6 ½ and had to be in kindergarten. Robert struggled
greatly—couldn’t write his name—or even much of the alphabet; although we worked
hard with him at home.
By first grade, Robert was swimming in deep
water. About half way through the year, his teacher finally showed concern and
called us into her office. "He just isn’t learning," she said in all
frustration.
From there I pressed the issue with our family
physician. And, after a thorough examination, he diagnosed Robert with Attention
Deficit Disorder (A.D.D.) and administered a drug called "Ritalin".
Although still slow, and now in special
education class most of the day, with this new drug, Robert began to pick up
things he had never learned before. Despite all their efforts to bring Robert up
to date on scholastics and grammar, he was too far behind and had to repeat 1st
grade.
From there, Robert excelled greatly, bypassing
what teachers, school boards, and medical professionals had said.
By sixth grade Robert was off Ritalin, in a
regular classroom all day, and mastering every subject with A’s and B’s.
In 7th & 8th Grade he
was on the A and B Honor Roll at the Owosso Middle School, in Owosso, Michigan.
He also did well throughout high school.
Robert's Cutting Testimony:
I struggled with cutting when I was a teenager.
Sometimes I even felt like committing suicide. Why? My parents argued sometimes,
my brother, Brian was really sick with heart problems, and my little brother,
Jeremiah was whacko and out of control.
I cut myself to feel better, but it only made me feel
worse.
When my mom asked me how I got the marks on my arms I
told her someone did that at school. She said she was going to report it if she
saw anything like that again, so I finally got up enough courage to tell her the
truth.
I thought they'd hate me or be mad, but instead they
prayed for me, and God led me to the scripture that says that my body is the
temple of God. I realized that my cutting was not only hurting me, but hurting
God, so I stopped.
Now when I feel bad, I just pray, read the Bible, or
tell my parents.
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