Growing up with my older brother, Micah, was not always easy—I mean how many siblings actually get along with their brother or sister all the time! We sure didn’t. Sometimes I wished he wasn’t my brother. And other times, we had a blast together—playing basketball, debating politics, watching funny movies. Having a brother with the label—intellectual disability—meant that our relationship was also different. At times I was embarrassed that my brother didn’t seem like my other friends’ siblings. Other times, I was worried about what his future would look like and I felt that other siblings didn’t have to worry about these types of issues.
However, Micah’s drive for an inclusive education meant that I grew to love and value Micah for Micah, for who he is. Inclusion became fundamentally important for me as well as Micah. Inclusion meant that a community was being created around Micah. When I was in first grade, I saw Micah at recess with his peers—laughing and playing. Throughout my middle school experience, I saw Micah involved in peer groups. That meant that on some weekends, he’d leave home for overnight excursions with his friends. In high school, my older brother encouraged me to go to school dances and ultimately, the prom. He knew how important prom was for his high school experience and he wanted me to have that same “good time”. When I went off to college, I told my new college peers that my brother went to college too. I didn’t always have to explain the advocacy side of him; he could also just be my older brother who was studying at the university. Inclusion normalized his disability. The tangible results of inclusion meant that I could see others value Micah, I could see Micah participating in everyday activities, and in turn I could value Micah.
Now a junior at Mount Holyoke College, I am studying the intersection of disability and education issues. When I graduate I will have my teaching certificate in Early-Childhood Education. It is important that I teach in an inclusive classroom—so that the siblings in my classroom will see other individuals with disabilities participating, engaging with their peers, and ultimately being respected. My hope is that, they too, will be able to learn to appreciate their brother or sister with disabilities.
Most recently I helped Micah move into his dorm room. This was a powerful moment for me.
May all siblings of a brother or sister with a disability be able to help their sibling move out of their home into a home that they choose. May they be able to feel mixed emotions of over-protectiveness and excitement. May they be able to talk to each other in a new way because now they both live away from home. May the sibling (without disabilities) who has felt embarrassed, pushed to the side, heard too many phone calls about a meeting for their sibling, ever felt alone, ever felt uncertain about the role they may play in their brother or sister’s future, ever felt frustrated at the way the rest of the world looks at their brother or sister—may they too experience something so great as I did when I helped my so-called “atypical” “retarded” “can’t do anything” “will never speak” “just put him in an institution” … yes, my creative, courageous, witty, powerful, brilliant, intelligent, loving, conscientious, funny, older brother move into a dorm, so he, too, can be once again be just my brother.
To this day Micah and I are friends. We talk regularly and hang out together. In June 2005, he danced at my wedding, and most recently he flew on his own to visit me in Chicago. We will be friends for life. Micah has a huge impact on me. When it was time to write my final paper during my senior year in college describing my approach and philosophy on teaching, nearly 30 percent of the content was about what I had learned from my relationship with Micah. He taught me that every student learns at a different pace. That students aren’t just in school to get an education, but are also there to develop social skills and lifelong friends. He challenged me to teach everyone as much as I can.
In my senior year of high school, all of my friends were talking about college. I would hear them say things like, “I got into the University of Michigan.” I realized that I wanted to be able to say that I got into college, too. I thought it would be a cool experience to be a college student. [In 2005], a new program started at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan, for people with developmental disabilities. It was started by a few very caring people who thought outside the box. They are my parents, teachers, university people and me. It’s called Oakland University Transition.
This blog is written/edited by SpecialQuest community members and does not necessarily reflect the perspectives of SpecialQuest Birth-Five or funders. 
