Learning what happiness is (and isn’t) from my daughter with Down syndrome

Our daughter Penny is 13 years old. She is in seventh grade. She loves Taylor Swift and Fuller House and wedding dresses. She says her most embarrassing moment in life was when she found out the boy she has a crush on didn’t like her back. The first question she asks every morning when I wake her up is, “Did anyone text me?” She’s a middle school girl who applies too much makeup when she wants to look fancy, who begs for a smartphone and the latest copy of Vogue when she sees it on the rack at CVS.

Penny also has Down syndrome. When she was an infant, I remember a friend saying (as if it were a consolation), “At least she won’t know if she’s being left out when she gets older.” My friend was assuming that Penny’s intellectual disability would inhibit her understanding of social rejection. Over the years, I’ve heard other versions of the same line: “They are all so happy, so sweet, such angels.”

When Penny is viewed from the outside, those statements might seem to apply. She is ready with a hug for anyone who will receive it. She’s quick to write a note of encouragement, quick to express concern for anyone in pain, and quick to forgive. She still grabs my hand whenever we walk anywhere together, and I am always struck by how small and soft it is. She still has the hand of a child.