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that you’re somebody you’re not, you’ll be OK if you find solace and safety in the desire to return home. As they say, “There’s no place like home.” My mother and my father made it like that, for me and each of my three siblings.
My brother, Angelo, is two and a half years younger than me. He is my youngest sibling. When we were teenagers, I tried to keep some distance because I didn’t want him to run with my crowd. We grew extremely close as adults. Angelo got married before I did. He and his wife, Lisa, had two children, my niece Amanda and my nephew Angelo Jr., who is also my godson .
Nobody has a bigger heart than my big sister Maria. She’ll do anything for you. Wherever she’s worked, whatever group she’s involved in—they all love Maria. Like my mother, she livesfor her kids. She and her husband, Marc, have three children: MarcAnthony, Sara and Angelina, and I marvel at how much love she gives her family day in and day out.
Susan is my oldest sister. She has Down syndrome. We had to look out for her.
In many ways, with Susan, it was always like having a younger sister. This is another thing about my parents. When Susan was born in 1959, they didn’t know as much about Down syndrome and other disabilities as they do today. Back then, parents were often advised by doctors to institutionalize the child. Susan was born premature. She lay in the hospital incubator, very tiny, and my father would visit every day. When he put his hands into the rubber gloves and held Susan through the incubator, he said, “I don’t care what those doctors say. She’s coming home, and she’s going to live with us.” And that’s where Susan lives to this day.
Your home can be a place where you learn fundamental values. My home taught me love for all kinds of people no matter how different they may be. It taught me to value and respect each individual. We take care of each other. We don’t give that responsibility over to others. This gave me a special insight and awareness. I always knew. I didn’t have to be told. I was protective to a fault sometimes. I got into a few scrapes with people who aren’t as sensitive and not as understanding. You know how kids are.
I remember attending events at Susan’s school for disabled children, with Maria and Angelo. We used to run around with all these kids with Down syndrome or autism or whatever. We had a blast. Some people get a little skittish around disabled people— people like that. I just treat them like anybody else. As a result, everybody has fun.
As siblings go, we grew up literally closer than most. Angelo and I shared the same room until we went to college. Our twin beds were so close together we could stretch out our arms andpractically shake hands. My sister Maria shared the same room with Susan almost up until the time she was married. Maria and Susan still live in the same house, and Maria, like my parents, looks after her just like she always has.
My family holds tight to an ethic of taking care of each other. We are truly each other’s keepers. There was never any question of that. People ask me, “If Susan had not been disabled, how would the dynamics of the family been different?” Well, if she wasn’t who she is, she wouldn’t be my sister Susan. I know we are richer for having her. It has given us more insight into what life is all about. It has given us a better understanding of how everybody isn’t born with the same abilities as everybody else. You have to consider yourself fortunate. Look, I grew up with a crew of tough guys, and I would cringe when I heard the word retard . But there are only so many battles you can fight. This sensitivity is a gift Susan has given me—given our whole family. It has made me realize that I have abilities—physical, analytical, intuitive—that other people don’t have. When you see someone struggling with something, something that would be a snap for you because of your strength, size, or intellect,