Once upon a time, in the faraway land of our cold war enemies, a baby boy was born on the second day of June. In a city by the sea, this baby boy entered a mean world. A society which would make no accommodation for him. A society which would not accept him.
His young mother, a full twenty years younger than her husband, in her distress, fled. She ran away from the maternity hospital, as if she could escape from the reality of her son's apparent imperfections.
You see, the little baby boy was born with 47 chromosomes instead of the typical 46. This little microscopic addition to every cell in his body sealed his fate. No mommy. No daddy. He would serve time in a lonely crib, to pay for the crime of being born with Down Syndrome.
I cannot tell you about his so-called life for the next four years. Those years remain a mystery except for one thing. A woman, an angel to me, visited this little boy's orphanage grouppa in 2008. The little boy caught her eye with his big beautiful melancholy eyes. She took his picture. She made a little video. She left.
By and by, I saw this photo.
His sad eyes spoke to my soul. I recognized him as my son. Today that little boy is officially my son. He is officially a U.S. citizen. He is writing a new life story. Ten months after arriving home...
barely escaping the faraway land with his precious life...
...my son, the little boy with the sad eyes, is five years old. Happy Birthday dear Theodore. And many, many more.
Many more trips to the zoo.
Many more swings.