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384 pages, Hardcover
First published October 6, 2015
I didn't realize until I started reading that this book was written by a sports columnist. Paul Daugherty is apparently a longtime writer for the Cincinnati Enquirer and has done some work for Sports Illustrated. That's probably why I had never heard of him before; can't say I'm a huge SI fan. SI articles tend to be long, human interest stories with sports as their background. Quite frankly, all I want to know is who they think will win the Super Bowl. If you want the human interest, however, there's plenty of it in this book.
This is the true story of Daugherty's second child Jillian, who was born with Down Syndrome. More accurately, perhaps I should say it's the story of all those Jillian touched, which encompasses quite a few people: the neighbor that Jillian walked in on as he was getting out of the shower, the brother that would kiss her on the forehead in front of his buddies before heading out, her high school classmates who never quite seemed to know what to do with her, the college basketball coach who asked her to be team manager... The list goes on. Daugherty likes to refer to his daughter's activities as "the Jillian show." We get the full show here.
Daugherty offers a very poetic writing style. He's fond of using analogies and often stops to wax philosophical on the difference between being alive and living, the "fairness" of life, the nature of relationships, etc. Perhaps the main strength of his work is that he holds absolutely nothing back- we get the good, the bad, and the ugly. He doesn't try to sugarcoat the dismay he felt when he first found out his daughter wasn't "perfect." He doesn't cover up the times he yelled at his daughter during late night homework sessions. Neither does he ever miss a chance to relate how desperately he loves his little girl, and how he would do anything for her.
Well, if your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness, I think we have a fine case study here. From the sheer intimacy of the book, I get the distinct impression that it was not written for its readers. As it draws to an end, and Daugherty deals with the bittersweetness of Jillian's growing independence, I begin to feel like I'm eavesdropping on something private. There are lessons for those of us who are strangers to him as he makes statements about disability, and urges us to look past the differences in those around us and see the perfect human inside, but they almost seem incidental, perhaps even obligatory. I can't shake the feeling that he wrote this book for himself, maybe for Jillian as well, a therapeutic effort as he looks back on the last 20-something years.
That's certainly not a bad thing. I don't fault him at all for wanting to relive his journey up to this point. Unfortunately, I ended up feeling isolated. Have you ever had an elderly relative who wanted to tell you about his late wife who died before you were born? (I haven't, but you know, good analogy) He's a great guy, you wish you could have known his wife, you certainly feel for his loss, and you know it'll do him good to talk about it... But, well, couldn't he, you know, maybe cut a few details and get to the point? Then of course you feel like a horrible human being for having such selfish thoughts, but the fact remains that you're having difficulty relating.
If that all comes across as overly negative, allow me to backtrack a little- this is a well written book, funny, sincere as heck, and with a fair amount of emotion. But eventually, as the pages begin to rack up, the emotion begins to give way to a sense that I'm an outsider here. Daugherty hopes that those of us peeping in will share in his pain and his joy. As one who never had the privilege of knowing Jillian, I find I can only observe. Perhaps I wasn't meant to do more.