On Saturday, June 1, 2024, my older son, Montgomery Lane Preston II, will graduate from Coffee High School. He is 21 years old.
Yes, you read that correctly – 21 years old and just now graduating from high school. Many of you know Montgomery. Others do not. Yes, there’s a story here.
Montgomery has a disability. You don’t have to be around him very long to realize it. We’re not exactly sure what the disability is. Some say he’s autistic. And he has some autistic traits. But he has other traits that are very non-autistic. We’ve never sought a label; at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter.
We began to notice that something was amiss when it was time to start talking. His speech was delayed. His walking was delayed. He seemed behind at every milestone that we were supposed to celebrate.
To make a very long and complicated story short, after a few years, we had to face the reality that Montgomery was different. The benchmarks that we would commemorate would be different than those of other parents. We would measure his successes very differently.
To me, there were two events that reinforced the intensity of Montgomery’s disability. The first came when we had a test of some kind performed that would measure his brain activity. Part of that test included having to keep him awake for 24 hours and it involved attaching electrodes to his head. To hold everything in place, doctors wrapped his head in gauze. He had to keep everything in place for a couple of days. In order to get him to wear the bandage, we had to bribe him with a Walmart trip. Immediately upon getting out of the car, people started staring. They weren’t discreet or secretive, either. Montgomery, of course, didn’t notice. But we did. It was at that point that I fully accepted the fact that we had a child with a significant disability.
The second moment came at school. I don’t remember at which school the meeting took place but he was in elementary school. We had to make decisions regarding what classes Montgomery would attend as he progressed. Until this meeting, Montgomery had been in a regular classroom. We were faced with another reality – Montgomery would be placed in a self-contained special education class for the remainder of his years in school. That was especially difficult for Heather. We walked out of that meeting with an altered reality.
Last week, someone asked me how you take care of a disabled child. “The same way you take care of an able-bodied child,” I responded. “You take of their needs. The needs they have are different than those of a normal child. You learn what those needs are and you give them what they need.”
We have always tried to give Montgomery what he needed. And he grew into a remarkably independent person. We are very fortunate – Montgomery can take care of himself. He can feed himself, clothe himself, go to the bathroom by himself. But he has trouble bathing and brushing his teeth. Time means little to him – he has no concept of having to be somewhere at 8 a.m., 11 a.m., or any other time. If he has to be at school but something distracts him at 7:30, he goes with the distraction, never thinking that whatever has grabbed his attention has also delayed him from getting to school on time. Montgomery lives in the moment, doing what he wants to do without regard of what other people think.
On the one hand, that’s very refreshing. Imagine living as if nothing in the world mattered. Montgomery has no consideration of what others think. The expectations of others have no influence on him.
On the other hand, that causes problems. At least three mornings a week, it’s a fight to get him dressed and off to school on time. Sometimes, it’s like the movie Groundhog Day – the same struggle, the same thing over and over.
But then there’s the resiliency. Montgomery has never given up. He’s never felt sorry for himself. He’s never lamented his disability. I don’t even know if he knows he’s disabled. If he does, he doesn’t care.
Every day he battles challenges and circumstances that I cannot fathom. He cannot read yet he manages to search the Web and find whatever he’s looking for. He is an encyclopedia of knowledge, particularly about animals. He can identify any snake in South Georgia and most of the ones located elsewhere. He has phone numbers memorized and can call anyone in the family. School doesn’t frustrate him and strangers don’t intimidate him. He makes an impression on everyone he meets and his enthusiasm for life is infectious.
Montgomery loves people. He loves school. He loves life. And that’s what makes this weekend so significant. These things that upset Heather and me – the sleep deprivation test, being in self-contained classrooms, all those early doctors’ appointments, not recognizing the importance of turning 13, not celebrating his 16th birthday or being able to drive, missing Homecomings and proms, and all those other milestones that people celebrate – they never bothered Montgomery.
For 21 years, Montgomery has simply lived his life. His challenges may have been different but when he was faced with an obstacle, he pushed through and emerged stronger and more motivated – the same as an able-bodied person would.
And, just like his fellow graduates, Montgomery’s journey will not end on June 1. He has more goals to accomplish, more successes to celebrate, a greater purpose to fulfill. We are forever grateful to his teachers, mentors, and other adults who have taken time with him. Without them, this journey wouldn’t have been possible.
As we conclude, don’t give up on those with disabilities. They are just as valuable as anyone else and they can accomplish great things in their own right if only given the chance. Montgomery is but one example.
And he’s not done yet.