Dani's Story: A Journey From Neglect to Love by Diane Lierow, Bernie Lierow, Kay West Read Free Book Online Page A

climb and get on top of things.
     
She has never been an aggressive child, she never hit or bit another child. There were other kids in my class who did those kinds of things. But never Danielle. Even if she was hit by another child, she did not hit back. There has always been a true sweetness about her.
     
    While Mr. O’Keefe was talking and the aides were busy with the other children, Bernie saw his opening. Or his chance to escape. He is not big on group discussions, and although I knew he was interested in what Mr. O’Keefe had to say, Bernie’s not a talker, he’s a doer. He started to follow Danielle around the rooms as she made her rounds. He kept his distance. I know he didn’t want to frighten her, but she didn’t really seem to notice him. She picked up a Slinky and got into the swing that was suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Bernie got down on one knee in front of her and smiled. “Do you want to play?” he asked and pulled on the Slinky in her hand, which pulled her forward. When he let it go, the swing went back. He pulled the Slinky, and she swung forward. He let go, and she swung back.
     
    All of the adults in the room had stopped talking to watch them, and we saw the moment that Danielle connected with Bernie for the first time. As he smiled at her, she looked directly into his eyes and pulled the Slinky from him. He pulled, she pulled back. She was playing with Bernie.
     
    Mr. O’Keefe and Ms. Perez smiled at each other, the aides smiled at Bernie, and Garet and I both had tears in our eyes. Such a simple little thing, but a small miracle had just taken place in that classroom. Danielle had never taken so quickly and naturally to anyone, they told us, and that revelation was all it took to put hope in our hearts.
     
    When it was time for lunch, one of the aides asked whether we would mind feeding Danielle. Bernie and I were surprised that she wasn’t self-feeding yet. We cut her sandwich into bite-size pieces because otherwise she put the entire sandwich in her mouth. Likewise with the orange sections and the carrots. We had to make sure she didn’t cram another one in before she swallowed the first. Sometimes she took something and put it in her mouth herself, and other times we held a sandwich piece in front of her face and she opened her mouth like a little bird. But she wasn’t eating baby food like many of the other children, and she had no lack of appetite.
     
    After lunch, the children needed to be changed, and when the aide came over to fetch her, I offered to do it. All of my boys had toilet trained early, so I had not changed a diaper in about five years, and that was on a toddler. I picked up Danielle, laid her down on a large changing table, and pulled up the skirt she was wearing. She was oblivious, and that seemed so strange to me. She should have been embarrassed that she was wearing a diaper and that a total stranger was preparing to change her. I reached automatically for a baby wipe, and the reality of the situation hit me. Here was an eight-year-old girl having her diaper changed, and that seemed so horrible to me. Tears came into my eyes again.
     
    It was as if she could sense what I was feeling and my anxiety, because as soon as I took her diaper off, she started screaming at the top of her lungs, as if I was murdering her. It was terrifying. I froze for a second, and then I thought, “Well, someone’s been doing this for her one way or another for her entire life. She’s gotten used to it, and it’s no big deal to her. So just get over it and do it.”
     
    I said, “I’m sorry to upset you, Danielle, but we have to change that diaper.” She stopped screaming. I used the baby wipe, put on a dry diaper, and pulled her skirt back down, and she swung her legs over the table and onto the floor. Off she went on her toes to find her Slinky. I took a deep breath, and as I turned around, I saw Bernie, smiling at me from across the room. He looked