[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 136 (Monday, September 26, 1994)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: September 26, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
                     VICENTE, ON HIS 18TH BIRTHDAY

                                 ______


                        HON. PATRICIA SCHROEDER

                              of colorado

                    in the house of representatives

                       Monday, September 26, 1994

  Mrs. SCHROEDER. Mr. Speaker, Denver Post columnist Tomas Romero 
recently shared his thoughts on the occasion of his son's 18th 
birthday. A father's love for his son has rarely been so well 
expressed.

                [From the Hispanic Link, Mar. 21, 1994]

                     Vicente, on His 18th Birthday

                           (By Tomas Romero)

       As I write this, my son Vicente is turning 18 years old, 
     the age at which young men begin to consider even more the 
     world and opportunities before them. It is a time for them to 
     take their dreams and begin to forge them into reality.
       My son has a separate reality. As much as his family and 
     father love him, and as much as he is a part of our lives, he 
     will never completely be a part of our universe.
       When Vicente was born something happened. Because of 
     careless medical error, a perfectly health child suffered 
     severe loss of oxygen and his brain was damaged. My son 
     cannot walk or talk. He remains, and will remain for the 
     duration of his life, an infant. His face is strikingly 
     beautiful, with well-formed features, and he has a head of 
     thick, soft hair. His stiffened limbs, which should at this 
     age be muscular and powerful, are so thin that I can encircle 
     his calves with my fingers. We have to carry him. His eyes--
     large, dark, luminous brown eyes much resembling those of a 
     Keene child painting--gaze at what we can only imagine. He 
     can't tell us.


                  i love to hear my son sing his songs

       Yet, my son has taught me more about communication than any 
     Joseph Campbell book, or hundreds of ``how to'' seminars,
       My son Vicente is my teacher.
       I can tell by the way he cries whether he is cold, sick, 
     hungry, or needs to be held. My son has taught me how to 
     listen; when I fail at life it is because I neglect to 
     practice the lessons he has given me.
       He has never hurt anyone or raised his voice in anger. He 
     is not selfish. Sometimes, when he is happy, he will coo 
     cheerfully, it is a pure sweet sound, and to me it seems like 
     a mysterious, joyous alleluia chant known only to him and to 
     God. I love to hear my son sing his songs.
       What happened to my son made me angry. For years I let rage 
     dominate me, consume me, and in the process I wounded myself 
     and those who meant the most to me. I gave myself twice the 
     pain. I gave myself a heart filled with regret and an excuse 
     to shut myself away from those who offered me their caring. I 
     lost twice because I didn't listen to my teacher. Instead, I 
     immersed myself in causes and in ambitions.


                i have accepted what is, and what is not

       Finally, one day, too late for some dreams to be 
     resurrected, I looked at my son Vicente, and the thought came 
     to me that the only thing worse than what had happened to him 
     would be for me not to have him. At that moment felt again 
     the unencumbered-by-fear love I had for those brief 24 hours 
     after his birth, before the seizures started and before the 
     desperate Flight For Life trip to The Childrens Hospital and 
     the torturous 30 days of waiting and watching him struggle 
     for life.
       I have always loved my son, and even when I see others his 
     age playing and being what they are, I have accepted what is, 
     and what is not, without resentment toward him. Now, I love 
     him even more, to the point where the thought of ever losing 
     him frightens me.


               he will not take part in a rite of passage

       I find comfort in admitting this because it means that I 
     have given myself permission to feel, and to want, and to be 
     part of life--not just an observer, a voyeur or a man who 
     doesn't want to be a part of the spiritual universe or 
     committed to someone.
       My son is a gift, a wondrous gift given to me to help me 
     find humility and to know how to understand and appreciate 
     the power of the powerless.
       This day, on his birthday, my Vicente will not take part in 
     a rite of passage. He will not leave a village to undertake a 
     walkabout or sip tequila con su papi. But he will know, 
     without a doubt, how much he is loved by all who are favored 
     and blessed by being able to bask in incredible light.
       Feliz cumpleanos, mi hijo. Te amo. iComo te amo!

                          ____________________