Read Nothing Is Impossible for Free Online Page B

Matthew and Al flew over from England to be with Dana and me for at least a part of every vacation, I usually picked them up at the airport in Boston. Then it was a three-hour drive across Massachusetts to our home in the Berkshires. I remember listening to the radio together on one of those trips when they were about nine and five. We tuned in to a variety of stations that played classical music, rock ‘n’ roll, contemporary top forty, and oldies. I asked them to identify the meter: Was the piece in 1/2, 3/4, 4/4, 6/8, or something else? How would they describe the tempo of the classical pieces:adagio, andante, allegro, or something else? In the rock ‘n’ roll and contemporary pop selections could they distinguish between the main melody and the bridge, also known as the middle eight? Somewhere along the Mass Pike, Al piped up in her chirpy English accent. “Do you know, Daddy,” she said, “this is the first time in such a long time that we’ve had a real conversation about something?” I realized that she was right. Not that we didn’t talk, but usually it was while doing something else. Now I gave them my full attention, and I soon learned to listen more than talk. That began a process of discovering that, in bringing up children and relating to others, sometimes
being
is more important than
doing
. I was also to learn that even if you can’t move, you can have a powerful effect with what you say.
    One special day in Will’s life is a good example. When he was six, he was still afraid to ride by himself without the training wheels on his bike. Dana spent hours killing her back as she bent over to hold his seat as he pedaled around timidly in front of our garage. I decided to see if I could help. I told him to start with his left foot on the ground and to set the right pedal in the fully raised position. I told him to grab the handlebars, push hard on the right pedal, and then put his left foot on the other pedal and keep going, being careful not to oversteer. I said if he kept his hands steady the bike wouldn’twobble so much. He listened carefully and got into the ready position. Then he froze, afraid to make that first push. I told him to take his time, but added that I was prepared to sit in the driveway all afternoon until he did it. I reminded him that I would never ask him to do anything too scary or too difficult. He didn’t complain; he just sat there for quite a long time assessing the situation. Then I announced that on the count of three he should start. I made it a long count, but after three I said, “Go,” and he did it. He pushed down, the bike moved forward, he got his other foot on the pedal, and off he went. On his first run he made a complete circle around the driveway. As he came past my chair the first time, his face was a study in fierce concentration. The second time he came by, he was smiling. For the next fifteen minutes he kept riding around our circular drive, gradually picking up speed. After that he wanted to go down the steep hill toward our mailbox, but we saved that for another day.
    If someone had told me before my injury that you could teach a kid to ride on his own just by talking to him, I would have said that was impossible. Timing is very important: words can only have a positive effect on others if and when they are ready to listen. And we have to choose our words carefully, particularly when we are the voice of authority for people who are vulnerable. In the first weeks after my injury, I was like a child and thedoctors seemed like parents, while the nurses became older brothers and sisters. I hung on every word and tried to interpret the expressions on their faces. Everything they said and did had an enormous impact on me. I remembered all of it; sometimes I replayed scenes over and over in my head. When I was told that my spinal cord had been severed and I would never recover any sensation or movement below my shoulders, I was haunted by those words for months.