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Why did the bars make you think of your sister? |
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Gina was three years older than me. When she was eight and I was five, things became quite desperate at our home. My parents couldn’t find a school that would take Gina, and her behavior had become dangerous. Here’s a quote from one of the many letters my father wrote during this time: “One hesitates to use the word ‘emergency’ about a day in, day out condition, and yet that is what we are living with.” Eventually, my parents launched a nonprofit foundation that helped them put together the funds to buy a house for Gina and five other children like her, and find and train professionals to run the house—but this took time. And while this massive undertaking was under way, our home was a combat zone. Because of this, my parents placed my sister in a mental institution: Camarillo State Hospital. |
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Even as a small child, I understood how desperate things had become with Gina; still it seemed pretty terrible to have sent her to “jail.” Every Friday we would drive up to get her. Every Sunday we would take her back. Sundays were terribly painful days for all of us. Gina never wanted to go back to Camarillo, and every week she would devise a new ploy to try to prevent us from driving her back. What is fascinating was how clever the ploys were. Here was a child given the label “profoundly autistic,” who could work the family dynamics in truly amazing ways. |
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