AND THEN CAME ERIC:

Downs Syndrome
Jytte Holst Bowers

AND THEN CAME ERIC:

Downs Syndrome

Jytte Holst Bowers

Write about him my friend said.

At 10:00 p.m. in a haze of sedatives given me throughout
the day at the maternity ward, it was difficult to think clearly, let
alone write.
So, Bodil continued on the phone, youve given birth to
a child who has Downs syndrome. I cant cry for you, and
neither should youbut I tell you, you should write.

AND THEN CAME ERIC

I had slept through the night and not even wondered why
the nurses hadnt brought my baby in so I could be assured that
ten toes and fingers were in place. At 8:00 a.m. my doctor sat at
my bedside.
Do you know what a Mongoloid is? he asked.
Did I know?

Had I not, as a student nurse back in

Denmark, rocked little red haired Anne back and forth, stilling
her cries as I had wanted to still her future.
2

Yes, I whispered, but.

I am afraid your little son is a Mongoloid. I cant tell for
sure. We shall know when the pediatrician comes in. The
other three new mothers on the ward were trying to introduce
their babies to their first meal. I looked on them from another
world.
I have to call Jim, I said, still in a state of shock. He
must be here.
Something is wrong, something is awfully wrong, but
dont run the red lights, I whispered into the phone, It might
not be that wrong.
Within an hour Jim was at my bedside, and so was the
pediatrician, Doctor Swartz. My doctors diagnosis was
confirmed, and I was wheeled into a single roomaway from
happy, feeding mothers.
3

But, let us look at it this way, said Dr. Swartz. You have
got a healthy baby. Usually children with Downs syndrome
have complications with their hearts and lungs, but this little boy
seems to be wellso let us take it from here.

He had said

Downs syndrome. When I had been in nurses training we only

knew the word Mongoloid; so much had happened in the last
twenty years. Maybe there was even a cure.
I thought his name should have been James, but not now,
I whispered. He is going to be Eric, and not with a k as in
Scandinavia. A c is easier to write. My vision was blurred, but
I was clear on that subject. Jim stayed with me as long as he
could. He had classes to teach. His world had to go on, even
after mine had stopped.
I spent three days at the maternity ward. My mind flowed
in and out of consciousness as the sedatives wore off. The year
4

Eric was born (1971) a new test could be given to pregnant

women which determined if the baby had Downs syndrome. If
my doctor had been alerted, at my age he would probably have
suggested I get that test, although it was not one hundred percent
accurate. Yes, I would have aborted. Jim might not have agreed,
but he would have consented to my wish. My sadness might
have been less, but the joy Eric has given us would never have
been discovered.

We might never have learned what was

important in life. We might never have learned that for every

door closed there are hundreds of windows ready to open.
Eric was fed by the nurses; I didnt see him until the second
day. The bond I remembered with my three daughters, now age
11, 9 and 6, was missing. But it was the three daughters who
reminded me that Christmas was only three days away, and
would I please come home because they couldnt find the star
for the tree.
5

And dont send our little brother to an institution. We will

help you care for him.
Jim visited the state institution on my doctors advice. It
was the only day I saw him cry. It was so awful to see all these
children in such a place.

Of course we will bring him home,

he said.
We found the star for the tree, and our girls were delighted
with their new little brother. Christmas had to go on for our

family. Eric is our Christ Child, Jim said, the one to teach us
what love is all about.
We were visited by a physical therapist within the first
month after our homecoming, and we were all taught about the
importance of moving Erics legs and armsand also to babble.
Babble about anything to prepare him for speaking.
I was put in contact with another mother of a Down
syndrome through Social Services. She came to our house one
afternoon for a cup of coffee and showed me pictures of a small
boy. I think hell be able to help us with our dairy farm some
day, she said. Then she took another picture from her purse.
Here is our daughter. We had to put her in an institution. She
is not as healthy or as capable as her brother.
It was incredible as I looked at this woman, a mother of
two children who had Down syndrome. She was so positive,
7

especially about her son who would someday be a dairy farmer.

Would it also be me, someday, planning for Erics future?

Erics formal education began when he was fourteen

months old.

Although the Education for All Handicapped

Children bill was not passed in Congress until 1975, Michigan

already had its program in place at the time Eric was born. Jim
carried him on his back every day Monday through Friday one
mile up to the college to catch the small school bus which drove
him to Marshall, a neighboring town thirteen miles away.
While we waited for his first step we babbled. That wasnt
unusual in a household with females in the majority. Eric kept
strengthening his muscles on my lap. Curiosity must have been
there since he squirmed himself across our living room floor to
look at the toys spread all over the carpet. One evening when
Andrew, an exchange student from Hong Kong, was sitting on
the floor beside me watching Erics little antics, I thought I
should say something. He is a Mongoloid, you know.
9

Mrs. Bowers, he said after a little pause, I am also a

Mongoloid; I am an A student.
I found it difficult to explain why the word mongoloid to us
was connected with retardation. From then on I only used the
clinical name, Downs syndrome.
A couple of days later I had a phone call from his teacher,
Anne.

Her voice was jubilant.

Jytte, hes walking.

Hes

walking.
So now the little boy the doctor never thought would walk,
let alone talk, was on his way. The young teachers were so
enthusiastic. I remember Jim saying, When you see a light
kindled in a students eyes, you know he has understood, and it
has been worth all the effort. It is easy to understand the pride a
teacher of special education feels. When they have reached a
goal, they simply glow.
10

What would follow now? His first word? Would it be

Mom? Would it be Dad? Eric was blessed with the most
devoted sistersmaybe it would be Christine, Benedikte or
Michelle. We were all anxiously waiting.
One of the evenings when we welcomed students into our
home to enjoy our sauna, they had brought their own supply of
beera cold beer is a must after a hot sauna. Eric came walking
into the kitchen and his very first word beer came out loud and
clear. I suppose the word had caught Erics attention. Jim and I
were very fond of the students of the 60s.

They were a

charming, idealistic group in rugged clothes with hairdos and

beards to match, bent on changing the world.
Later, when Eric got older we could never get him to wear
blue jeans. He always insisted on being dressed formally, at
times too formally. I think it stemmed from his early days
where holes and tatters had been the norm.
11

Now able to walk, Eric qualified for the Special Olympics,

founded in 1968 by Eunice Kennedy Shriver, sister to the late
President Kennedy.

The Kennedys had a sibling who was

mentally retarded, and in 1964 Eunice invited a group of

handicapped young people to her home for physical games. She
found the children far more capable in sports than many experts
had thought. A seed was sown. In 1968 the door was opened,
and today the games are held all over the world with more than
20,000 eager participants who proudly wear their medals. Eric
participated when he was four years old, and now, in his thirties,
he still thinks it one of the most important events of the year.
Another special activity for Eric was horseback riding. A
gentleman close to Erics school in Battle Creek had generously
opened his stable and use of his horses once a week for the
physically handicapped and retarded children. He had heard of
12

the Danish rider, Lis Hartel, who had won honors in

horsemanship at a young age. She was paralyzed with polio in
1944 at the age of 23 and had over three years by riding horses
reactivated the use of most of her muscles except for the
paralysis in her legs from the knees down. Although she had to
be helped on and off the horse in the Scandinavian riding
championships she came in second, and in the Olympic Games
in Helsinki, 1952, she won a silver medal. She won another
silver medal in Stockholm in 1956 and has given hope to the
physically handicapped ever since.
I went with Eric to watch him ride a couple of times. He
and his small friends sat proudly on the big horses. The animals,
named after Indian chiefs, were led around the ring by kind
volunteers. The children had fun, and the idea of regaining
physical strength through riding has later been adopted in the
rehabilitation of the handicapped.
13

Although we were not a family who were interested in

horses, we were a family of hikers. Eric was barely five years
old when we traveled out to Lassen Volcanic National Park in
California for the summer where Jim had been hired as a park
ranger who also led church services on Sundays. The park was
only twenty-five miles long and wide. It held a special interest
for me since it got its name after a Dane, Peter Lassen, the
pioneer who colonized Northern California. The memory Eric
has of this wonderful summer is that he constantly had to be
rescued from the latrines where he had a special knack for
locking himself in while both his sisters and Jim and I would try
to pry the door open, and all the while we pleaded with him to
stay on the floor and not crawl up on the seat.

14

One morning, however, a little more danger was involved,

as he managed to run away from me out onto the only highway
that ran through the park.

Usually there was quite a lot of

traffic, and Eric chose the center line for his new adventure. I
followed, screaming, and caught up after what had seemed an
eternity. Then the punishment, a couple of hard smacks on his
bottom. Gary, one of the rangers, had followed me. Now it was
my turn for punishment.
Why in the world did you do that? Eric doesnt know
better, Jytte. You shouldnt have hit him.
He could have been run over by a car, I snapped. The
only way he might learn is by giving him a punishment that
hurts. Then he might not do it again.
I bit my lips. Gary was the last person I should turn my
anger on. He was one of the kindest persons I had ever met,
although he had a handicap that seemed much harder to bear
15

than Erics. Gary was brilliant. He was a son of a park ranger

who had introduced him to the wonders of nature in the
wilderness of California. His father had taught him not only of
the beauty but also the danger hidden in the big forests.
If a Grizzly ever crosses your path you have to stand still,
so still it might think you dead. Dont move for any reason and
it will leave you.
A couple of years later this advice was foremost on Garys
mind when he and his friend came upon a Grizzly bear. Gary
leaned like a stone pillar up against a tree, but his friend ran and
scared the bear, who then turned on Gary. His face had been
disfigured so unbelievably that I shuddered when I was
introduced to him the day of our arrival at the campground. The
face under the rim of the ranger hat revealed such disfigurement
and agony. After that first meeting I seldom noticed it.
16

He had probably had so many rejections in his life because

of his handicap. I should not have turned on him so sharply, but
how to discipline and when was difficult. Neither Jim nor I had
ever spanked the girls as punishment.

I knew some of the

teachers didnt think I disciplined Eric enough. Like Gary it was

easy to think, Eric doesnt know better, and avoid the
scolding. His sisters were right, however, when Eric played
tricks on them, and they gave him a piece of their mind.
Back in school Eric continued to improve. He had moved
from

Crary

School

in

Marshall

into

Doris

Klaussen

Development Center in Battle Creek, where he was under the

Division of Special Education. I had also moved, so to speak.
I was accepting my situation as a mother of a handicapped child
much better, although when I heard about a treatment for a
possible cure for Downs syndrome given by a clinic in Detroit,
I put in a call in to ask about it.
17

As I remember it, the treatment was high doses of vitamins

given intravenously which, so they said, had produced great
improvement in children with Downs syndrome. It was costly
and not without side effects.
What kind of side effects? I asked. They told me the
treatments were often followed by nausea and severe vomiting.
I canceled my hopes, not so much because of the expense,
although it was astronomical, but mostly because of all the
discomfort it would bring a little boy whom I still wanted to be
normal.
*

Jim loved his job at Olivet College, where I also had a job
as college nurse, but in 1979 things began to unravel and we
decided to move west. It really wasnt our first choice. Jim had
been encouraged by a British professor at a Danish university to
18

apply for a vacancy they had in the Foreign Language

Department. Oh, was I ready. Back to my homeland, speaking
my mother tonguewhere I would know the ways of the
people.
Well, the job didnt materialize, and today I am very glad,
since Eric would never have had such a good education in
Denmark as the one he received here in the United States. I am
grateful for the waves of humanitarian feelings which filled the
America in the Sixties.
Fortunately, Jim also had an offer to teach English parttime at Colorado State University, so the big 8x8x16 pine box
with our belongings destined for Denmark went to Fort Collins.
Our oldest daughter, Christine, was on her own, and Benedikte,
our middle daughter, had been adopted by our friends in
Olivet so she could finish her senior year at her high school in
Michigan
19

It was only Jim, Michelle, the youngest of the girls, Eric

and I who drove toward the West. After three days we arrived in
Fort Collins where we marveled over the broad tree-lined
streets. We found a suitable apartment, but it would not be
ready until a month after we arrived. Meanwhile we settled
happily with our camper in the foothills and spent a wonderful
month between wild flowers, pine and rocks. It was our kind of
atmosphere, and we needed all the beauty we could get. It had
not been easy to move away from our daughters and from
friends we had had for seventeen years, not to mention our
house Jim had designed and built. I had made Olivet, our small
college town, my country. America had always been too large.
But what about Eric? He was eight years old. We had to
find a school where he could be comfortable and continue his
progress. It didnt seem like our big move had made any
20

difference in his life, although one evening when I put him to

bed in the camper I thought something was troubling him.
Eric, is anything wrong? I said.
I pinched her.
Whom, I puzzled.
Miss Doris. Eric had some speech impediment. I may
have misunderstood him, but now it all came out. Back in
Michigan he had crawled under his teachers skirt and goosed
her. It was hard for me not to laugh. Maybe his teachers had
been right when they told me that I didnt discipline him
enough.
She could just have had pants on. I realized he meant
pantsuit and patted his head.

He .had already been punished.

The teacher had been angry and pinched his cheek. He put his
small hand up to my cheek to show how it had been done. I
should not have laughed, but I was happy our little son had
21

22

should

shown some ingenuity.

We often drove down from to Fort Collins to check on the
apartment and to give us a little change from the camp cooking.
One of the McDonald evenings a lady sitting close to our
table walked over to us and asked if Eric was in school.
No, we told her. Weve just arrived from Michigan and
are camping in the foothills until our apartment is ready.
Well, Foothills Gateway is the school for the handicapped,
and it is a very good school, she added. I think your son will
be happy there.
Foothills Gateway, what an enchanting name, I thought,
and not too long afterwards we got to know how excellent the
school was.
Finally our apartment was ready, and we moved down from
the mountains.

Our summer had been filled with so much

sunshineso many flowers, but the university was about to

23

begin its classes. Jim had secured a job, albeit part-time, so I

had to look for one to supplement our expenses. Michelle had to
go into her junior year in high school, and we had to find
Foothills Gateway so Eric could continue the good education he
had received in Michigan.

Little did we know that The

Gateway had not only opened for Eric but for all of us to an
exciting future which was about to unfold a year later after Jim
had found a permanent position again.
*

In the meantime we had the pleasure of a visit by my

parents, who came over from Copenhagen to celebrate my
fathers eightieth birthday.
Rola, my stepmother, whom my father married five years
after my mothers death, was a wonderful grandmother to our

24

three daughters. When Eric was born her greatest concern had
been how she could help me through the first difficult period.
Since Eric is born on a Sunday, he shall be able to see all
the small fairies of the woodland, she wrote in her first letter. It
must be an old Danish saying. Rola knew so many of them.
She was steeped in literature and the philosophy of the great
thinkers. I myself have often thought that children like Eric
could see the woodland, see the sunbeams dancing on the leaves.
They are the loving children of the world.
Unfortunately, his birth had not gone so well with Jims
parents. We received a very harsh letter from his mother after
Erics birth which in a few words told us that they considered
him a misfortune, one we had brought upon ourselves. I have
heard of other grandparents of handicapped children who had
difficulty in accepting such a fact. Later on I was asked by a
friend of ours if I would write a letter to his niece who had given
25

birth to a Downs syndrome. He thought it would help her to

hear about Eric. As a matter of fact his niece had taken it in
stride much better than I, but her mother-in-law had to be
hospitalized after the birth of her grandchild. She had suffered a
nervous breakdown.
I believe it was after we had moved to Fort Collins I finally
came to accept the fact that we had a handicapped son. By then
Eric was almost eight years old, and I am sorry I wasted his first
important years with my own self pity. At Foothills Gateway we
became more involved with the teachers more than we had
previously been in Michigan.
In the early spring of 1980 we were invited to a meeting
with the staff of the school. They introduced us to a school
board member who had also been invited to attend.

26

I think this spells trouble, Jim whispered, and right

enough she had been invited to convince us that Eric belonged
in a classroom with regular children, main-streamed as it was
called. We said that we did not think handicapped children
would profit from that arrangement. They would be under too
much pressure. Maybe the regular student would feel better
about himself, but the handicapped would feel more lostmore
handicapped.
At that point in our lives it did not become a concern since
Jim, in the summer of 1980, accepted a job at Black Hills State
College in Spearfish, South Dakota.
*

The wide open spaces of the West, its mountains and

waters, brought my mind back to Scandinavia to Norway. I
was home, and Eric finally found the home he deserved. I began
27

to take interest in his development and cheered with his teachers

over the progress he made.
He was almost nine years old when we settled permanently
in Spearfish. We had barely moved into the small house we had
rented close to the center of town when three of Jims new
colleagues from the college stood on our doorstep with a bed for
Eric.

They had heard we were in need of one.

So much

kindness boded well for the future.

With Michelle in her room and Eric in the loft, a nice size
bedroom, living room and kitchen, we were settled once more.
Erics school was right around the corner. The school had had a
special education class, but the classes had been discontinued for
several years after the children in them had moved away.
Nevertheless, they were restarted when Eric and two other boys
moved to town. Sue Cook, Joanne Bockwoldt and Lisa
28

Haugland were the teachers of Erics class, and he was in as

good hands as he had been in Michigan and Fort Collins.
The Hallings, who were the landlords of our new home,
were also the owners of the Best Western Motel right across the
street, allowed us to use the motels inside swimming pool
whenever we wished. A few days after we had arrived we were
ready to take advantage of their generous offer. A couple was
playing with their son the first time we went over there. The
boy was about Erics age. Without hesitation the father threw
the ball to Eric. The son did what the father expected of him. He
included Eric in the game. Children take the cue from their
parents.
We visited with our new doctor, Steven Vosler. I couldnt
help but compare him to the doctor who had delivered Eric nine
years previously and had advised us to put Eric in an institution,
29

saying it was doubtful he would either walk or talk. Dr. Vosler

was young. I wondered if he had followed some new
development in the area of Downs syndrome. He gave me a
searching look from his desk, then said, Why dont you just
relax and enjoy him. There lives a young man in England who
also has Downs syndrome. He travels all over the country and
gives speeches about it.
I have often thought how right he was. To live with a
handicapped takes you down so many paths.

Those inside

yourself have so many detours, so many ruts, on which you may

stumble. The counsel of a wise man is often necessary to shine
light in the darkness.
I met Mary Jean, the mother of a boy who also had Downs
syndrome. He was a few years younger than Eric and attended
the same class. Mary Jean was the first person, but for Jim, to
30

whom I had revealed my guilt feeling about giving birth to Eric

when I was of an age when I knew I was taking a risk.
That is nonsense, she replied. I was twenty-five when I
had Joshua. He was my first baby. You cant blame yourself.
Jim had told me that over and over again, but this time I
listened. Finally, I began to feel at home with Eric. We had not
only arrived in the Heartland of America, but we had also
arrived in a community of healing hearts.
*

Eric began to work with words. His teachers encouraged

the childrens creativity, and Eric became a poet. One of his first
attempts resulted in the following:
I wish I was a fireman
Because I want to save people
I wish I were a doctor
31

Because I want to listen

To hearts
I wish I was a garbage man
Because I want this town
To be clean.
I wish I were a policeman
Because I want to stop
Bad people
But if I get fired
From all these jobs
Then I will be a teacher
The teacher was the lowest. Eric had always seen his father
with a bundle of papers to correctan endless job.

32

I think his interest in fitting his vocabulary into poems was

inherited. My grandfather, as well as my father, loved to write
verses. We hardly had a family festivity to celebrate without a
song, a speech, or some poetry written by them.
Erics speech, on the other hand, was not always articulate,
so a couple of times a week during his early Spearfish years he
met with a speech therapist. Once I was invited to listen to his
progress.
Now, let us show your mother how well you do with your
ses.
Eric repeated, although not quite flawlessly, SsSsSs.
Then he bent his head and whispered for my ears alone, A lot
of b... s. His last s was the most flawless.
One afternoon when Eric and I went to get groceries, I
drove into the handicapped parking lot by a mistake.
33

Oh Eric, I am in the wrong spot.

No Mom, you are all right. I have Downs syndrome, and
you are the handicapped.
His quips often take us by surprise. Jim says they are
inherited from his Danish ancestors.

Another thing is his

memory. Our family can always count on Eric to remember

what happened where and when at a time which long ago has
eluded our minds.
Every year the State of South Dakota proclaimed a day in
which The Art for the Handicapped flourished. The students
came in touch with writers, painters and potters. I believe it was
thanks to Eunice Shriver and the Kennedy family, who had also
discovered that sport was not out of the realm of possibility for
the handicapped. As a result Eric loves to listen to music. We
take him to concerts and musicals, but it is poetry which holds
34

him fascinated. One evening, after a reading by Robert Bly, he

wanted to go u p and thank the poet.
It was beautiful, he said, like music. The poet thanked
him for being a good listener.
Our family enjoys art. Although we are not collectors, the
pieces we have in our home are for the most part created
especially for us by friends who are artists. Through their work
we can recall special memories. However, it is the play of
words which grabs Erics attention. At the Art Festival for the
Handicapped Eric worked with Jack Kreitzer, a poet from
Minnesota, who with the help of Charlie and Joanne Bockwoldt
helped to form the childrens thoughts on paper. At times I
thought, How much is Eric?

How much are the teachers

creative minds playing a role?

When we were in China a

35

couple of years later I found out. One evening when Eric was
helping me with the dishes he suddenly said

I went to China
To see the china
Then they eat
Out of tin plates
Oh Eric, you have got it, I thought. You can juggle with
words like your grandfather and great grandfather. Wouldnt
they have been proud to have known you?
*

SOMEBODY SPECIAL
Zooms through the snow on his bike
Directs our band when we give a concert
36

Talks loud enough so we all can hear.

Plays with our toys, and gives us a turn too.
Reads good books to us every day.
Takes us to the park, art shows, plays
and shopping for treats.
Puts us in skedaddle when we are naughty
Let us watch baseball game on T.V
At school.
Helps us when we are sad, hurt or can't think
Belongs to us, and we love him.
Our teacher and our friendCharlie.
Caleb, Eric and Joshua
That is Charlie, the teacher who has taken over the primary
responsibility for special education in the Spearfish schools and
who has had the greatest influence on Erics life.
37

He taught

Eric for almost twelve years, a time during which he put his
mark on a number of handicapped children.
Charlie is a father figure, a brother figure, and even more.
He is the friend the children can lean upon. Many nice, loving
and capable teachers have come and gone in the Special Ed
classroom. The memory of their faces has become blurry, but
Charlies face stands distinct. His hair and beard, by now white,
gives you the feeling of a year around Santa I also believe that
is what the children see, even now, when they put their hand in
his with a great confidence.
As a result of Charlies efforts, a poem written by Eric won
the South Dakota Yes I Can award for handicapped students
who had excelled in the arts. Of course we were present at the
annual meeting of special education teachers where the award
was presented. At the proper time Eric rose and made his way to
38

the podium. First he introduced us to the assembly, and we rose

to accept their applause. Then he said, Now I want to introduce
my good friend and teacher, Charlie, who is standing over there
with a camera. Charlie was duly recognized. Then Eric read
the poem which had won him the award.

SOUTH DAKOTA IS

South Dakota is
Buffalo grazing on the plains
Mount Rushmore teaching us to love our country
Lakes for canoeing, fishing and swimming
Parks for hiking, picnics and camping
Gold, hiding in the creeks and hills
39

The Badlands standing quiet as outer space

Rodeos, parades, the Passion Play and museums
Hill villages, towns, cities and ghost towns
Camp Friendship to learn how to live and work
Kind hearts, helping hands and good neighbors.
Then he continued, I have received the Yes, I Can award,
but now that we have elected Bill Clinton as President, we can
all say, Yes, I can. You can imagine the audiences response.
As a winner of this state award, his poem was forwarded to
the national competition for the Yes, I Can award in the arts,
which Eric also won.

Erics sister Benedikte and her family,

Charlie, Jim, Eric and I went to Denver, where he would receive

the recognition. He was among a group of handicapped students
from all over the nation who had excelled in their different
talents.
40

Eric wore the tuxedo his sisters had made him for his high
school graduation. It was difficult to match his dress code,
even more

difficult to match the poem in which he honored

South Dakota.
Amongst the congratulations was a letter signed personally
by President Clinton.
* * * * *
In addition to Erics poetry I cherished a very special letter
written to Dear Abby. Two friends of mine had cut it from a
local newspaper; each thought that I should read it, and I think
many mothers of handicapped children will recognize the
feelings of Emily Pearl Kingsley, who wrote this very special
letter.

41

42

WELCOME TO HOLLAND
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a
child with a disabilityto try to help people who have not
shared the unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it
would feel. Its like this.
When you are going to have a baby, its like planning a
fabulous vacation tripto Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks
and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. Michelangelos
David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy
phrases in Italian. Its all very exciting. After months of eager
anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off
you go.

Several hours later, the plane lands.

attendant comes and says, Welcome to Holland.

43

The flight

Holland?! you say. What do you mean, Holland? I

signed up for Italy! I am supposed to be in Italy. All my life
Ive dreamed of going to Italy.
But theres been a change in the flight plan.

Theyve

landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing
is that they havent taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy
place full of pestilence, famine and disease. Its just a different
place.
So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. You must
learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new
group of people you would never have met.
Its just a different place. Its slower-paced than Italy, less
flashy than Italy. But after you have been there for a while and
you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice

44

that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even

has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from
Italy, and they are all bragging about what a wonderful time they
had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, Yes, thats
where I was supposed to go. Thats what I had planned. And
the pain of that will never, ever, ever go away, because the loss
of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your
life mourning the fact that you didnt go to Italy, you may never
be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about
Holland.
*

Eric was in his thirties when Jim and I tried, albeit not
successfully, to see if families of handicapped children were
interested in joining a parents group. Amongst other things Jim
45

suggested that we ask our doctors to inform us when a woman

had given birth to a handicapped child so we could come in to
the hospital and tell the family about our experience. We could
give information about all the help that had been available for
quite a number of years. We certainly could show sympathy.
I cant say my doctor back in Michigan had shown much
sympathy.

He asked me the day after the delivery to find

another doctor for Eric. He didnt know anything about Downs

syndrome. I have been informed that doctors even today, thirty
years later, still do not have much information for mothers who
have given birth to handicapped children. It seems, at least to
me, as if they put the blame on themselves for having delivered
a baby less than normal.
Even so, I couldnt support Jims idea to sit at the bedside
of the mother who had given birth to a handicapped child
46

without being invited. I still remember, painfully, that I only

wanted to be left alone the first days after I gave birth to Eric.
Jim was the only visitor I wanted. People act differently in a
period of sadness, but I do think it a good idea if the doctor has
the name of some parents he can call, should the mother want to
speak to another parent with a handicapped child.
When Eric was nearly thirty, a good friend of ours asked
me if I would write a letter to his niece, Anne. She had just given
birth to a little girl. After delivery the baby was diagnosed with
Downs syndrome. I agreed. I felt it would be easier for me to
write a letter than to sit by her bedside. Beside we were several
states apart.
Dear Anne,
Like you I am a mother of a child with Downs syndrome,
but now it is so many years ago, so even the days which seemed
47

hard to face at times have by now turned into more pleasant

memories. I should like very much to share our experience with
you and your husbandmost of all to let you know that there is
a lot of help today. Fortunately, that was also the case when our
son, Eric, was born.. The bill for the handicapped passed the
year after his birth, and we have taken full advantage of all the
help which has been offered.
We understand that your little Mary still is in the hospital,
and we hope that she soon will be able to come home. By now I
hope that your strength is returning. It will take a while, I know.
Somehow life goes on, and so many lovely moments are in front
of you as well as a good number of frustrating ones. That I
believe is what it is like to be a family.
We had a physical therapist coming to our home in the first
year after Eric was born, just to work with his muscles to
48

strengthen them. She told us to talk a lot to him, even babble.

Maybe I may suggest that you write down when your little
daughter, Mary, progresses from one state to another.
Unfortunately, I didnt do that. Now it is difficult to remember
how and when our son developed.
Eric never crawled, but snaked himself across the floor to
get hold of a colorful toy. I forget when he began to feed
himself, but I believe he took his first steps when he was close to
three years old. He was in school half a day at the age of one,
and a full day when he was six.
It is such an advantage to get all the professional help
which is offered. If it isnt, try to figure out whom to contact.
You need the help. Maybe you can join a parents group. You
are not alone. There is neither rhyme nor reason why this birth
should happen to you, to me, or thousands of other women.
49

Lots of things happen every minute around the globe. Some are
very sad, but so many are very happy. We will have to get along
the best we know how.
Eric is now 30 years old, and tomorrow he is going to
Denmark to visit his sister, Michelle, who lives in Copenhagen.
He will travel by himself. If we had been told that when he was
born, we would not have believed it.
We have always tried to treat Eric as we treat our other
children. The people who did that as well became our friends.
You do need support, so try to find friends who take the situation
as a matter of fact, friends who accept that you have a different
child, but not a lesser child, a child who will give you and your
husband so much pleasure.
Our best wishes for you and your family,
Jytte and Jim Bowers
50

This letter was written in 1998. Annes daughter, Mary,

must be in school by now, and Anne most likely will have
discovered the brilliant play of light and shade in a Rembrandt.
*

Although Spearfish is close to being an ideal place to live,

Jim wished to travel while we still felt young. In the spring of
1986 he said, Why dont we go to China?
To China? What for? I almost dropped my fork. Oh, I
see, you want to learn how to eat with chopsticks. I had just
cooked a Chinese mealsort of. We had enjoyed it, but we
were also using our forks.
Well, Jim continued, I saw an announcement from a
Chinese school, a Ship-building Institute. They need English
teachers badly. I sent in my application.

51

You did what? I was dumbfounded. Are you crazy? I

said when my voice returned. We cant do that to Eric. They
will have no schools for him. Eric was almost fifteen years old
and attended an excellent school, and now Jim wanted us to
move to China.
Well, as I see it, he said, living in another country will
be an education in itself. China will be his school. It sounded
as if he was determined to seize this new opportunity.
I see what you mean. But of course you will never hear
from them.
Within a month we had the answer. They would love to
welcome our family in the middle of August.
We told Eric that the sun went down in China at the same
time it rose in America, and that we had to fly for sixteen hours
before we got there. That did not make his perception clearer,
52

but the promise of a tailor-made suit for his fifteenth birthday

and the biggest hamburger we could find in Shanghai won him
over. He was the first to learn, in fluent Chinese, how to ask
where the bathroom was. The road was paved for our new
adventure.
We celebrated one of the last days on this side of the globe
by dining out in a Chinese restaurant. During the meal Eric left
the table quietly.
He might have to go to the bathroom, I said. He will be
back before the dessert. After a short time I went looking for
him. I found him with the waitress, her hand resting on his
shoulder.
I am sorry, he is saying something, but I cant understand
what he says.

53

What is it you want, Eric? I was a little annoyed with the

waitress. Despite his speech impediment it was usually easy to
understand what he meant.
I want to go to the bathroom.
Well, that seems clear enough to me. I turned to the
waitress. Would you show him the way, please? As we left
the restaurant I asked him, Why couldnt the waitress
understand you?
I dont know, he said. Then he leaned toward me and
whispered, I asked her in Chinese.
Yes, Erics Chinese, little as it might be, was better than
ours, and his new territory was the long road shaded by
sycamore trees which ran through the campus as well as the
street lined with peasants selling their food products where he
and I went every morning. His room in the guesthouse was
54

directly opposite ours. The hallway in between was made into a

makeshift kitchen where I cooked our meals on a hotplate.
The Chinese were extremely helpful and kind, and Eric
made many friends. They were most hospitable; we had hoped
to be invited to their homes, but the Communist regime stood in
the way. It was Eric who got invited to dinners, as he did not
present any threat to the system. He returned home to tell us
what a good time he had had; we were jealous. Our invitations

55

were to banquets in public places, but it was the homes we had

wanted to see.
In the spring of our second year we discovered that the first
school in China for special education teachers was about to be
opened in nearby Nanjing. Jim contacted the president of the
new college and asked if he would like us to bring our son to the
school so that Eric could tell the teachers about his education in
America.

He was a true representative for the handicapped as

he stood on the podium wearing his tailor-made suit.

The

classroom was filled with new, young teachers sitting on desks,

crowding the back of the room, filling the aisles as they listened
to a first hand account of what could be accomplished by special
education teachers. One of the administrators had just returned
to China from Michigan where he had spent a year studying the
education of the handicapped. He translated Erics speech as
56

well as the questions the teachers asked afterwards.

As a

conclusion Eric read a couple of his poems. I have seldom been

more proud, thankful for the opportunities which had been given
us because we were lucky enough to live on the right side of the
globe. Our son was an ambassador on behalf of people with
Downs syndrome, demonstrating how much could be
accomplished if the assistance was there.
On our way back to the railroad station we passed the Jing
Ling Hotel. On the street at the entrance sat a filthy little boy
doing small tricks with stones for little handouts by pedestrians
who walked by. We recognized his Downs syndrome features.
Eric looked at him; he did not see the similarity.
I had been with Eric constantly for two years. Yes, China
was his school, a school where a walk to the market was an
adventure, where the cooking and eating were so different,
where the language was almost impossible. We never quite
57

knew if Eric could understand the difference between our system

and theirs. At the end of his stay he wrote a poem about his
adventure. Oh, yes, Eric understood.
CHINA
I didnt see The Great Wall
But I saw a famous grave*
Shanghai, too many times
The worlds biggest city.
The people belong to the republic
They are so nice and kind
But not to themselves
In the beautiful country of China
In the republic
They do have freedom
58

But in China
They are called
The liberals
Every year on my birthday
They gave me two cakes in a row
China is so good to me
I want to go back, someday.
Eric Bowers, 1988
*Dr. Sun Yat Sens grave in Nanjing
*

So as Eric went home to Spearfish to live with his sister,

Benedikte, Jim and I continued to travel, to teach in the
communist world. Jim so loved his teaching abroad, and I was
happy to follow him. He is the best of husbandsthe best of
fathers, but I believe that a father bonds with daughters, a
59

mother with sons. Eric was no exception to that rule. Jim

always gave me his support, but the close and cozy relationship
was Erics and mine, alone. Of course there were the essays, the
armload of papers Jim always brought home from the college to
correct.

They could have been the reason for the distance

between father and son, a distance which became less as Eric

found his own voice
.

Jim Bowers
Handsome
Strong
helps around the house
retired from teaching
I am his son
and proud to bee.
60

61

We have often smiled when Eric in his younger years

referred to Jim as your husband. I believe he was in his teens
before he said Dad, when he talked about him.
You cant get a better example of the Oedipus Complex
than that, Jim laughed.
Eric and I had a bond, whether we danced a waltz in the
kitchen or walked in and out between heavy traffic in China
when we went to market to shop for our dinners. We struggled
with the language, and Eric could actually say a few more words
than I. With his fabulous memory he can still recall situations
which had left my mind long ago.
I have been told of fathers who after the birth of a
handicapped child packed their belongings and left the mother
with the responsibility. We know one, as a matter of fact. In the
end, however, it usually is the father who should be the head of a
62

household, and Jim was. If bigger decisions had to be made, I

knew where to go. I could depend on him as a father, even if in
Erics eyes for a long time he was your husband.
As Eric came into his teenage years I often wished I could
have heard Jim and him talk together, that I could have seen
them walk with one another. Together they would have tried to
find solutions for an ailing world, discarded them and begin all
over again. Instead Eric brought profound gifts to his fathers
lifeso profound that Jim discovered a world with many, many
dimensionsthe world of the heart.
*

It was time for Eric to let go of Charlies hand. He had let

go of ours when we decided to stay abroad another couple of
years. Eric, who had been under the school system and in care

63

of Charlie, now came under the auspices of Northern Hills

Training Center.
Thirty years ago a handful of creative men: Dick Ruddell,
DeNiel Ammon, Walter Higbee and Fred Romkema, thought we
had to have a center for the disabled in our community where
the more severely handicapped could still feel important by
working in a protected environment while the less severely
disabled could live and work in the community under
professional supervision.
There are three residential areas beside the center where the
clients live under professional care.

I like the word client

instead of handicapped or disabled. It seems like the word

client presents a higher degree of expectation. In fact some, like
Eric, are able to live independently. They are simply visited

64

once or twice a week by one of the staff from the center who
looks after their needs.
We have been lucky to have Peggy Erskin as Erics service
coordinator for the past few years. Amongst other things she
helps him with his shopping and tells him when his bachelor pad
looks less than desirable.

Peggy in turn reports on his

progression or lack thereof to Erics coordinator, Tacey

Dunwoody, who like Peggy is always ready with suggestions
and is much appreciated. Both of them meet with us monthly,
sometimes together with Eric, at other times alone. Once a year
we have a meeting with all of those working with him, including
his supervisor at the City Hall, where he works two hours every
weekday. We go over Erics progress for the year, address any
shortcomings and plan for the year to come. The goal is always
that Eric become as self-sufficient as possible. In fact it is often
65

he who conducts these meetings as he asks each person to make

her report.
The staff of Northern Hills Training Center is directed by
Fred Romkema, who was for a time the mayor of Spearfish.
The brother of the present mayor is a client at NHTC.

As a

result the center has had close ties to the community for many
years. A number of clients have been given part-time jobs in the
town and are thereby not isolated; seen, not shoved off into a
corner and forgotten. NHTC is constantly being evaluated by
parents and state officials to ensure that the highest standards are
being met.
A yearly banquet is held for the clients and their families.
Every person under their care receives a certificate of
accomplishment, no matter how small as step it may seem to socalled normal people, and a round of applause.
66

The

certificates are framed to hang on their walls. The clients pride

makes it a very festive occasion.
For the parents of a handicapped person there is always one
question which haunts them: What will happen to my child
when I am no longer here to take care of him? It is a great
comfort for us to know that Eric is in good hands. We owe so
much to those who care for him with great compassion and love.
*

But when does a mother not worry?

You have got a

healthy baby, the doctor had told us when Eric was born, and
yes, he was, but was he also a happy one? In general children
who have Downs syndrome have a good disposition. There
have been times, however, when I have seen Eric unhappy. Let
us sit down and talk about it, I want to say, but I stand in No

67

Mans Land, in the land where there is no meeting of the mind.

The only answer I get is an echo.
Downs syndrome children have a high pain threshold. It is
very seldom we have heard Eric complain about pain. It can be
difficult to detect if he isnt feeling well. However, the deepest
pain a human can suffer is the pain of the soul. Should that
threshold also happen to be high, then my worries would be less.
On one occasion we had a visiting scholar, a poet, on
campus. Jim and I enjoyed his reading, but when he read two
poems about his Mongoloid sister we failed to understand. The
poems were so full of anger. Unfortunately, we didnt get a
chance to talk with him later, but we understood he had been
brought up on a farm at a time before Special Education had
taken hold. Before a school bus stopped at the door to pick up a
small handicapped girl. Before the Special Olympics were
68

thought of, which certainly would have made her eyes sparkle.
Her big brother most likely had been her baby-sitter in the
lovely summer days when he would rather have played. Was it a
wonder that he had difficulty coming to terms with his anger?
I never have felt that our daughters had anything but love
for their little brother. They laughed with him. They coached
him. They teased him. It was obvious when Michelle came
home from school one day that she had been in a fight. A boy
had called her brother a retard. That was not to go unpunished.
Eric was part of their lives. He was the ring bearer at
Benediktes wedding, and some years later he gave Christine
away when she got married in Florida. Jim had not been able to
get away from his job in Lithuania. Their brother was a part of
their childhood. Later he became essential to their outlook upon
life.
69

Contrary to the poets experience, Eric was born at a time

in which Americas conscience toward the handicapped was
awakened. We have benefited greatly. Although his reading
skill is poor, he picks up quite a bit from the T.V., and since his
memory is remarkable, he is able to remember what he has seen
and heard. He is a teaser and comes up with remarks which
often hit home.
In time we have learned to speak Erics language, to speak
of his interests and see less of his disability. At times I think we
might not have been aggressive enough, done too little with his
abilities, but we have always been a family who has enjoyed just
being ourselves.

We have loved to live far away from the

highways. Eric loves to live on them. It is easy for him to get in

contact with people, and people give their time and show their

70

interest in him. He never seems lost for words nor for ideas
about his life.
The loss, however, will always be there when I call in No
Mans Land, and the only answer I get is an echo.
*

By the time we returned to America Eric was close to

twenty years old and already living by himself in a one-bedroom
apartment. He held down a job at Burger King while finishing
his last year in high school. Charlie had told me that as soon as
his students became twelve years old they were given small jobs
in the school to teach them responsibility so they could later
operate in society.
We owe our daughters so much for teaching Eric the value
of being independent. As a mother I would have continued to do
things for Eric, just as I did when he was a child. I believe it is
71

more difficult for a mother to let go of a sons hand than to let

go of a daughters.

But under Benediktes and Michelles

tutelage while we were abroad, there was no pampering. If he

wanted breakfast he had to make it himself.
So we prepared for Erics high school graduation. His
sister Michelle was to be his date for the prom, but first he
wanted to take her and her husband Torben out for dinner. After
that he would escort Michelle to the dance. We had a lot of fun
altering the bridesmaids dress she had worn for Christines
wedding. In a conservative rural community, it was out too low
to be appropriate for a high school prom.
Erics graduation party a week later was very festive,
including friends he had come to know through the years. All
our daughters were ther e with their families to celebrate their

72

73

little brother, whom they had helped so fully to achieve the good
life he was now living.
In memory of his graduation we gave him our dining room
table. Jim had made it for us while Eric was still a small boy.
The table we had moved from one self-built house to another
was made of long oak planks glued together and placed on top
of the stand of an old Singer sewing machine. It contained so
many memories, which now became Erics. In the center his
sisters had painted a little schoolhouse on the tabletop, and the
many who attended the party signed their names and good
wishes on it.
*

Eric was in his late twenties when our friend, Frances,

invited us to come and visit her in Washington D.C. Since Jim
wasnt able to come along, Eric and I set out by ourselves to
74

enjoy friendship, the capital and also the Capitol at the end of a
cherry blossom season.
As we settled in the plane toward Washington, the young
man next to us wanted to engage in conversation. He turned
toward Eric, And do you have a girlfriend?
Of all the questions, I thought, how silly. However, he
meant to be kind, so I couldnt be too angry at him.
No, Eric answered. When I get one, she has to be
normal.
It brought tears to my eyes. How many times had Eric said,
When I get married, and how many times had I replied, Eric,
not everyone gets married. I have a cousin in Copenhagen who
never married. She lives very happily by herself.
With three sisters married, however, it would be natural that
Erics thoughts should involve marriage. In later years the talk
75

about marriage never comes up. Other things are more

dominant: his church, his job, parties and travel.
Ah ja, the travelsat this very moment it was Washington.
Frances met us at the airport, and we were going to have a
glorious week. Friendship with Frances went back to Sun Yat
Sen University in China where she and Jim taught English.
When her husband was alive he had been with the World Bank,
and the world had been Frances back yard, a back yard she had
observed with a keen mind and a keen heart.
It didnt take Eric and Frances long to strike up a
conversation about China. After Eric had gone to bed she and I
talked into the night. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that made
me choose the wrong train the next morning. Eric and I found
ourselves on the way out of the city instead of into it. I had been
told that Washington is easy to get around in. Apparently not for
76

me. I constantly managed to turn the map in the wrong direction

and subsequently had to ask for help.
If you are going to ask once more about the way, Eric
said, I will say, I brought my handicapped mother to see
Washington.
The Air and Space Museum was Erics favorite. I have a
suspicion it was more the cafeteria with its excellent hamburgers
which captured Erics interest. I am afraid we passed lightly
over all the treasures at the Smithsonian, but so what. It was
Erics tour, not mine.
He could identify with the flame on President Kennedys
grave. Probably he had seen it on T.V. However, it was the
Lincoln Memorial which kept him spellbound, so much so that
Frances, who hated to drive at night, made an exception. She

77

drove us into the city so Eric could see one of the greatest
presidents in floodlight.
The beautiful wall with the names of the dead from the war
in Vietnam was too abstract for Eric to understand. I
remembered our students struggle with that war.

I also

remembered saying to myself at the time that one good thing

about giving birth to a son with a handicap was that our
government could never ask for his life.
The sculptures of the soldiers who fought the Korean War
were so real you wanted to take their hands and ask for forgiveness for our wars that are so senselessmost of them are.
My best snapshot of our week in Washington is the one of
Senator Tom Daschle and Eric standing in front of a painting of
Franklin D. Roosevelt. I had made the arrangement before we
left South Dakota so a time was set apart for a visit to the
78

79

Capitol.

The senator received us graciously, and after the

traditional picture taking he asked me if I had a special thing I

wished for.

I said I wished that he would continue to support

the cause for the handicapped. He nodded and turned to Eric.

And what about you? What do you wish for?
That you will win the next election, my son answered.
Eric was a diplomat, whether amongst communists in China or
capitalists in America. Back home we hung the picture of our
meeting with our senator on Erics wall and spoke of our
Washington experiences. Eric has always had a keen interest in
politics and avidly follows the bigger events, like the elections.
At election time he volunteers to go door to door on behalf of
his chosen candidate.

During the fourth of July parade in

Spearfish Stephanie Herseth, our representative in Congress,

80

was riding her horse. When she saw Eric, she rode up to him to
greet him personally. He loved it.
*

But it is religion which is the center of his life. We call for

him every other Sunday after the service at Praise Fellowship to
bring him home for a good meal. That is about as often as he
wants to see us any more, now that he has his independence. He
is the one who blesses the food.
Dear God
Thank you for this day
Thank you for our family
And our friends.
Dear God, Amen.

81

The church to which he belongs is a Pentecostal one that he

and Benedikte joined while Jim and I were overseas.

It is

definitely the church for Eric, a small congregation with more

action than in our sedate Lutheran church. He praises God in
dance and song, although he never has been able to carry a tune.
Once I was stopped by a member of the church.
We love Eric, she said, and we are quite envious of the
way he expresses his love for God. We wish we could act so
freely.
Jim says that Eric does not have an ego. I think he is
mistaken; all people do. But Eric is not egotistical. Downs
syndrome children show their love with abandon when they
throw their arms around you.

Of course, not everyone

appreciates that gift; it is a gesture which has to be unlearned in

school at an early stage in their lives. I find it hard to restrain
82

that impulsive sign of affection, an affection perhaps not proper

but more genuine than the peck on the cheek we give one
another, often more an affectation than a sign of true affection.
Ministering to others is Erics calling. He wants so much
to be a missionary for the church, I told his pastor, Brother
Dennis. Would that be possible?
Do you think he would like to go to England and join our
missionaries over there? he asked. I had really not thought of
that, but why not? So an early spring day Eric set off to join
Praise Fellowships two young missionaries, Rebecca Boke and
Eric Van Horn, for a week in the northern part of England.
He took part in their meetings and talked a little about his
church, and he was so lucky as to see the queen when she was
on tour to celebrate the Golden Anniversary of her regency. Eric

83

told me he stood so far back it was hard to see, but a man lifted
him up on his shoulder so he could wave with the crowd.
Jim and I often wondered how much Eric understood the
sermons given by his minister in Praise Fellowship. One day,
however, he called Jim on the phone.
Dad, from Friday to Saturday is one day.
Yes, Jim answered.
And from Saturday to Sunday is one day.
Yes.
Then why do we say Jesus rose from the dead on the third
day?
Jim explained to him that the Jews count a day from
sundown to sundown. Both he and I were left to wonder what
retardation really meant.

Eric in his somewhat simpler life

understood more than we had believed.

84

In the summer Eric joins the crowd scenes in the Passion

Play which is performed three times a week in our town of
Spearfish. More than fifty years ago Joseph Meier brought the
idea of the play from Oberammergau in Germany, where this
pageant is played every ten years.
Eric attends not only Praise Fellowship, but the First
Lutheran Church and the Catholic Church as well. In the latter
the Father even gives him communion.

I am not sure it is

common to do that to one who is not a Catholic, but I think the

priest is offering an example of true Christianity.
Eric is our Christ Child, Jim had said at his birth. It was
a prophetic statement.
*

Spearfish is my town
Its people belong to me
85

I belong to them
Haiku by Eric
Yes, it is as simple as Erics little Haiku. It is very difficult
if not impossible to raise a handicapped child without the
support of others in the community. We have been fortunate to
live in such a village, to live peoples kindness, to live them
taking time to stop and talk to Eric, to live in America at a time
when the true value of thoughtfulness and kindness is
demonstrated.
Before Eric had finished his high school he had a job at
Burger King; however, as time went on it proved to be too
stressful, so he had to stop. Fortunately, at that time the building
of our new city hall was finished, and a janitorial job opened up.
It was a two hours cleaning job Monday through Friday.
Northern Hills Training Center provides job coaches who stay
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with their clients for a month or so until they are familiar with
their jobs and they can do the work which is expected of them.
It is about a mile from Erics apartment to his job, and he
walks it every day in all kinds of weather. It is on his way home
he makes the little detours during which he meets people. At
Ace Hardware Store they tell me they can set their watches by
Eric. He leaves his job at four p.m. and gets to their store
around ten minutes later. Every day they give him a bag of
popcorn.

Then he walks over to Common Grounds, our

wonderful coffee gathering place, where they treat him to a glass

of ice water. The flower shop next door also gets a visit. At
times the owner even has a small job for him.
One day, Renee, the owner of the store, asked him if he
would like to have a bouquet of pink carnations. The flowers
time was limited, but they still displayed their beauty. Eric
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received them gladly. Later when Renee had some errands to

run she saw a single carnation in vases in the stores Eric
frequented.
Yes, It Takes a Village.

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