What does one do when one finds oneself in a difficult situation that won’t go away in the morning? Or the morning after? Or the year after?
Art and Mariter (nee Jalandoni) Macapagal struggled to find the answer to that question when their firstborn son Andrei, now 43, was diagnosed with autism almost 40 years ago.
“Your son will never be normal like you and me for the rest of his life,” the psychiatrist whom they had consulted for a second — and hopefully more positive — opinion told the couple. “You want a cure, but he will never be cured.”
“I was devastated,” Mariter recalls of the moment. She was a beautiful young mother from a pedigreed and wealthy family from the Visayas. She had married a tall and handsome man, the firstborn son of then President Diosdado Macapagal. She was particularly impressed by Art’s humility.
Why had her fairy tale been spoilt so abruptly?
Few people knew and understood what autism was at the time, but Mariter knew that all was not well because little Andrei was unusually hyperactive, would flap his arms like they were wings, had difficulty speaking and was fixated with spinning objects.
The Macapagals were not “ordinary” and were subject to more scrutiny than you or me. Andrei was the prized first grandchild with the Macapagal surname. His shoulders bore the weight of great expectations.
But he was different, and this became all too evident to Mariter when their second child Alex was born, two years after Andrei. Art and Mariter had a daughter, Melissa, two years after Alex. Their family was complete.
Art and Mariter admit they both asked God, “why us?”
“I was a good person,” Mariter remembers telling God.
But after the tears came the resolve.
“We were morally challenged by the situation,” recalls Art.
Andrei was like a compass that pointed Mariter to her second calling in life — special education. She now has a master’s in Special Education and a doctorate in Education Administration from UP, but shares someone in the family beat her to a doctorate in Psychology— Melissa.
The Macapagals think Andrei was brought into their lives to give them a purpose beyond themselves, beyond their family. Because of their prominence and resources, they have used their knowledge of autism to reach out to others in the same difficult situation. Mariter is now not just a teacher but also the director of the Cupertino Center for Special Children in Loyola Heights, Quezon City. She champions the causes of autistic children and other special children whom she feels are being discriminated against. After all, she knows how it feels to have a special child in the family, particularly during the late ’60s and the ’70s, when society was still intolerant and less compassionate against such cases. Art and Mariter never hid Andrei from others, and she had to contend with stares whenever Andrei would act differently or be hyperactive.
Once during a parenting forum, Mariter overheard one of the parents saying, “Tingnan mo sila, hindi nila tinatago ang anak nila. Eh, mga Macapagal sila. Tayo pa kaya?”
* * *
I had a chance to meet with Art and Mariter at the former’s office at the Toyota car dealership in Pasong Tamo.
Art’s office is proudly adorned with Andrei’s paintings, one of them, of car silhouettes. Even the conference room is brightened up by Andrei’s works — flowers in bloom, landscapes and everyday structures presented in the most vivid of colors. The proud parents say Andrei’s works have drawn accolades from people “who had no clue who the artist is.”
Some of the paintings were on exhibit during the launching last week of the book, Our Andrei, Living with Autism, at the Wack Wack Golf and Country Club. The book was written by the late Reynaldo Alejandro and Vicente Roman Santos, and in it, the couple share their numerous, interesting first-hand experiences in addressing autism. They also share how the family’s love and support has turned around what others could have considered a curse into a lifetime blessing.
Mariter recounts that their youngest daughter Melissa had at first decided she would never marry, because she wanted to take care of Andrei for the rest of her life. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, even Alex had the same intention.
Neither Art nor Mariter made this imposition on Alex and Melissa, yet the siblings felt it was their duty to care for their brother. Andrei brought out the siblings’ selflessness.
But their parents assured them they had their lives to live, and to please not put their lives and loves on hold for the sake of their brother. In fact, Art and Mariter have set up a trust fund for Andrei so that neither of his siblings has to worry about his upkeep when their parents are gone.
“In the end,” says Vicente Roman Santos, one of the co-authors, “it was Andrei who unwittingly humanized his parents and siblings, even as they helped him.”
There is a folk belief that having a special child (in those days they would say, “abnormal”) was “suwerte.”
Art agrees, but prefers to look at Andrei as a blessing rather than good luck.
Perhaps he worked harder because he was thinking of Andrei’s future, that’ s why his Toyota dealership has been and is a success, “sinusuwerte,” so to speak.
Mariter and Melissa (who, like Alex, has her own family now) continue to teach Special Education while Alex just retired from a ranking post at the Landbank of the Philippines to help his father with his dealership.
Andrei paints, reads, plays a portable organ and xylophone. He has the comprehension of a second grader, but paints like a pro.
“Andrei is the uniting force in the family,” beams Art. “He has brought us a lot of joy.”
He is not just Art and Mariter’s Andrei; he is everybody’s Andrei because he is that special human being in our midst who teaches us to be selfless, kind, and slow to judge — ultimately bringing out the best in and from us.
(You may e-mail me at joanneraeramirez@yahoo.com)