of eating the wrong things, she is very strict and confiscates my television remote so that I cannot watch my favourite soapies or even record them. But when I take control and eat wisely, my mom is proud of me.
So, if someone has a child with Down Syndrome, that mother should not feel sorry for the child and allow him or her to eat the wrong things. She must teach the child to eat the right food, even when she is not there.
Sometimes when a mother is pregnant with a baby who has Down Syndrome, she chooses to have an abortion, or after the child is born she decides to put it into an institution.
My take on this is: as people with Down Syndrome, we have a right to live. I feel like crying when I think about the little babies like me who are not given the right to live. We can live full lives and we can make a difference in the lives of others. I am very glad that my mother gave me such a chance. I’m also glad about all the opportunities I’ve had. The President’s Award that I received in Johannesburg from the Hamlet Foundation for people with disabilities is very dear to me, because I was honoured as the person who has done most for people with intellectual disabilities in South Africa. It made me realise that any person can make a difference, even those who are not as clever as others.
So, to every mother with a Down Syndrome child I’d like to say: do not throw away your child or kill it before it has been born. We are loveable children, even though we can be headstrong – extremely so, according to my mother! Do not give up hope too easily. Miss Spies, who was the principal of Oranje Girls School when I was born, advised my mother to raise me like any normal child. The child must be taught to fit in with society and not do silly things. The child must be taught to obey the rules at home. It is the only way for us to become socially acceptable.
Whenever I achieve something, my mother is just as happy as I am. When wonderful things happen to me, like when I had a role in the TV series Binnelanders, she is very proud of me.
My mother always makes time for me. I sometimes feel bad about this because I know just how busy she is. I am so grateful that I have such a friendly and loving mother because my mom is also sort of my secretary. When someone asks me to be a guest speaker, she checks her diary. If she has a day open, she enters my appointment.
We do almost everything together. When I have my hair washed and blow-dried on a Friday, she is there, and she joins me when I go for a manicure. I like to watch her kind of films with her, as long as they don’t have subtitles. Sometimes she watches a film of her choice and I go to one that I prefer. Afterwards we meet for coffee and discuss the films.
My mom makes sure that we have enough to eat and that I have nice clothes and shoes. I really battle to find shoes, because I wear a size one or two. Some days we are lucky and we find up to four pairs, but sometimes nothing.
When I address audiences as a motivational speaker, my mother’s tears start rolling. It was quite bad in New York. She was so stressed that she couldn’t take any photographs. Her hands were shaking too much.
My mother always says a prayer before I start my speech. She asks the Lord to be with me, but also with the people who listen, that they do not see me but rather our Heavenly Father, who has blessed me so abundantly.
My father
Wow, this is rather difficult. What I remember about my father is that he was warm and gentle. He was the one who always brought laughter into the house and who teased us and tickled us. He laughed often.
But my father was also very strict with me. He punished me when I was naughty, but I always knew that he did it out of love and that he just wanted the very best for me.
Over weekends I would pour him a whisky with lots of ice and some water. When he came home for lunch, I’d make him a sandwich and half a cup of black coffee with one sweetenerpill. He usually came home from the office at about five, because he said his family was the most important thing in his life.
My dad was painstakingly neat. He numbered his shirts so that similar ones would be packed away together. His number-one shirts were the white ones; number-two the coloured ones for the office, and so on. His office was also very neat.
Shortly before my dad died, he was reading a book, Innie skylte vannie Jirre. When we walked past the lounge, he’d call us to listen to extracts. And he would laugh a deep-belly laugh.
When my dad watched rugby on television, he argued with the players and the referee when he did not agree with something on the field. When his team won, he’d jump up and down in excitement.
I sometimes wish I was more like my dad who could tease people and crack jokes, but I’m not like that. My dad was the warmest, most loving and most gentle person. I will never forget him.
Uncle Sam
At first I found it very difficult to accept Sam du Plessis as my second father, but I also knew that he would never try to take the place of my real dad. The only thing that was important to me was that he made my mother happy.
Uncle Sam’s wife, Lana, died of cancer in 2002. About nine months after my dad died, he started coming to our house. Uncle Sam and my mother’s first “date” was a visit to the Bainsvlei cemetery, where his wife and my father are buried. They were both sad as both of them missed their partners who had died. About five years later, they got married.
Initially things were not that easy between Uncle Sam’s three daughters – Lizanne, Michelle and Anchen – and the three of us. But then I decided that because Uncle Sam made my mother happy, I would accept him. I invited Michelle for coffee, just the two of us. I wanted to ask her in a nice way whether she and her sisters would please accept us. We had a really good chat that day.
Over time we’ve all adjusted, and my new sisters accepted me for who I am. We’ve adapted to the new house, and in the past few years we’ve all been getting along well and are very happy. I’ve gained the loveliest three sisters.
Lizanne has the two cutest little kids. When she and her family stayed with us for a while, we got know each other really well. Sometimes she’d join me in my room for a chat. She was here when I turned 30, and after the party she and Anchen helped my mother clean up. It felt like we were a real family.
I think Uncle Sam cares for me as if I am one of his own children. We are a happy family, even though my dad and Uncle Sam’s wife have both died. I am always grateful to be part of a happy family. May our Heavenly Father grant other people this wonderful feeling. Better still, may all of us learn to be there for others who need help.
My sisters
My mother always used to dress me and my sister Marisa – who is only 21 months younger than I am – the same and tie our hair in ponytails. She always pulled our hair back very tightly.
Marisa and I did most things together. She mastered her school work easily, while I struggled most of the time. My mother always made me repeat my work. Sometimes I felt like a fool because I struggled so hard, but she explained to me that struggling was part of life. Some people struggle more than others, but that doesn’t matter. As long as they still to do their very best.
We played with our dolls and we swam. Those were good times. Over time my “twin sister” grew much taller while I grew much more slowly. Now Marisa has left home and is married. She and her husband, Pieter Steyn, have a little boy, Josua, and a baby girl, who was born in April 2017. Mia Shéri is named after our father (his first name was Jeremia) and me. It is the greatest honour. It was very hard for me when Marisa left home. But I know that she is very happy in London and that her husband makes her happy. Although I
