MSI Press Blog

  Precerpt (excerpt from book prior to publication):  Raising God's Rainbow Makers  (Mahlou)   I once thought of Shane as my most “ordinary” child. He was a late walker, a late talker, and content to observe the world quietly. But when he began reading at 23 months—likely earlier, if I’m honest—I had to revise that assumption. He wasn’t slow. He was simply unfolding on his own timeline. When the fall semester began in 1980, Shane had just turned three. I was deep into my doctoral work at the university, which had a well-regarded lab school with a preschool program. Perfect, I thought. Lizzie was in elementary school, Noelle was thriving in a special needs preschool, and Shane had spent the previous year in a different center alongside her. This setup would be convenient: drop Shane off, climb the hill to my classes, and reunite at day’s end. On his first day, we parked in the graduate student lot and counted the 100 stairs up to the lab school together. Shane knew ...

   Precerpt (excerpt from book prior to publication):  Raising God's Rainbow Makers  (Mahlou) During Shane’s first year, we thought he might be slow. Not in spirit, but in milestones. He didn’t walk. He didn’t talk. And we had what felt like objective reasons to worry. He didn’t walk until he was over two years old—on the very first day he was separated from Noelle, his older sister by one year, at day care. Noelle, paraplegic and waiting for surgery to fit braces, couldn’t walk either. She couldn’t even stand without falling with a thud. But she was fiercely protective of Shane. Every time he tried to pull himself upright, she’d caution him: “No, no, Naney.” And he’d sit back down, scooting on his bottom with hands on ankles, just like her. They looked like little crabs scuttling across the house—synchronized, bonded, beautiful. He didn’t talk, either. His first word came at six months, tumbling out of him as he tumbled down the stairs (a gate failure, a parenting f...

  In 1980, I fell down a flight of stairs. The day started out normally enough. Breakfast over, Donnie departed for work, and school lunches prepared, the kids and I were ready to take on the day, as usual. Lizzie had skipped off to her fourth grade class a few blocks from home. Three-year-old Noelle, dressed in a pretty pink dress and her blond hair tied up into two ponytails   with matching pink ribbons was tucked away in the back of our orange Pacer, where she could sit comfortably with her legs stretched out. (Those were days before the invention of seat belts.) Two-year-old Shane was seated on the outside stairs, waiting for me to bring out Doah, in his carrier, along with his suction machine for his trach tube. Doah was on the sofa, next to his suction machine. Everything and everyone in place – except that Shane needed a pair of socks. I quickly scooted down the basement stairs in search of clean socks that should have been on top of the dryer. And the, oops, I slippe...

  Shane has always been a good self-advocate. Perhaps because he sees the world differently from others--as a matter of logic, which disconcerts those who would argue with him because they live in the larger illogical world. Fourth grade, fifth grade, seventh grade, eighth grade...nearly every year he had an opportunity not only to outthink his parents (that was a given) but also to outlogic his teachers.  Fourth grade was quite a year for him. He managed to frustrate his teacher on a regular basis. For example, he refused to do his homework, yet he would use math (algebra) to figure out how to lower our electric bill, and he would absorb himself in reading fiction typically assigned in high school and college classes. Though he was only 7 (remember, he began first grade at the age of 3), he considered his time valuable and did not to waste it on silliness or things he already knew. The teacher complained and complained and complained that her would not do his homework. I aske...