Diogo Mainardi - The Fall - A Father's Memoir in 424 Steps

They all said that Christy Brown would remain forever in a state of “torpor,” because he was an “idiot,” “mentally defective,” a “hopeless case” and “beyond cure.”

In his autobiography, My Left Foot , Christy Brown described how he was able to overcome the worst prognoses, finding a way of typing and painting with the big toe of his left foot.

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Like Christy Brown’s parents, Anna and I learned to ignore all the doctors’ stupid prognoses, whether positive or negative. Like Christy Brown’s parents, Anna and I learned to celebrate each step taken by Tito, however wobbly.

After a certain point, we even learned to celebrate his falls. In the early years, Tito would always hurt himself when he fell. Over time, he developed new ways of breaking his falls.

Knowing how to fall is much more valuable than knowing how to walk.

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The Irish band The Pogues recorded a song about Christy Brown.

In the opening chords, the electric guitar is accompanied by the sound of a typewriter, going tap-tap-tap .

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(Picture Credit 1.12)

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In the previous image: Christy Brown in his room, tap-tap-tapping away on his typewriter.

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Now Tito is in his bedroom, and I’m in the library.

He is tap-tap-tapping away on his computer keyboard. I respond by tap-tap-tapping away on my computer keyboard.

I send him a PDF of a photo of Christy Brown. I then explain to him over VoIP that Christy Brown’s cerebral palsy was far worse than his, but that didn’t stop him becoming an important writer.

I also send him a file containing The Pogues’ song and translate the words, which describe how Christy Brown, the village idiot, managed to become a respected writer around the world by typing — tap-tap-tapping — with his big toe.

Tito rapidly loses interest and switches off the VoIP.

Christy Brown felt a need to overcome his cerebral palsy. Tito is perfectly happy with the way he is. He doesn’t need any good examples.

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Christy Brown picked up a piece of chalk with the toes of his left foot and wrote the letter A. He was five years old. His parents realized that inside his paralyzed body was a normal mind, and they started stimulating him by talking to him all the time.

The New York neurologist recommended that we use the same method as Christy Brown’s parents, because Tito’s intellectual abilities were the best resource he had.

From that day on, Anna and I started bombarding Tito with words and more words. When he’s had enough, he switches off the VoIP.

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Christy Brown died when he was forty-nine, after choking on a pork chop.

To go back to Tommaso Rangone: the food that proved most harmful to Christy Brown’s health was a pork chop.

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Although the New York neurologist was wrong in his prognoses — just as the “idiot” Tommaso Rangone was wrong about Pope Julius III — he completely transformed our lives.

As well as recommending that we stimulate Tito all the time, he recommended that, during the Venetian winter, we go to live somewhere hot.

According to him, a child with cerebral palsy needed to be free and unimpeded and naked all the time. A child with cerebral palsy, according to him, needed to be in touch with the sand, the earth, the water.

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In the previous image: Tito and Anna witness the arrival of the Venetian winter.

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I quote myself:

We each have our own particular talent. Mine is leaving Brazil. No one leaves Brazil as well as I do .

If leaving Brazil were painting, I would be Rembrandt .

If leaving Brazil were literature, I would be Shakespeare. From one moment to the next, I can abandon everything and leave. In a calm and orderly fashion. I have more than thirty years of practice. I have left Brazil at every possible opportunity and stayed away for long periods. And it’s always worked out well. Because I know exactly what to expect of other places. Anyone who leaves thinking that he will find something better than Brazil is in for a disappointment. I never made that mistake. I left Brazil with the sole aim of being a long way from Brazil .

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When the New York neurologist recommended avoiding Venice in the winter months, my first thought was to buy tickets for Rio de Janeiro.

However often I had rejected Brazil, and I did reject Brazil, I could never deny that it was hot.

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Christmas 2001, we flew off to Rio de Janeiro.

It was hot.

Our plan was to stay for two months. We ended up staying for nine years.

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In the previous image: Tito on Ipanema beach.

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I look back now at the photos from that time.

Tito is free. Tito is unimpeded. Tito is naked. Tito is in touch with the sand. Tito is in touch with the earth. Tito is in touch with the water.

In Rio de Janeiro, we found everything that the New York neurologist had recommended.

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We stayed in Rio de Janeiro for nine years — instead of only two months — because of Ipanema beach.

There was another reason too: a Bobath therapist.

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Karel Bobath was a pediatrician.

Berta Busse was a gymnastics instructor.

Born in Berlin, they had to flee Hitler’s Germany because they were Jews.

Berta Busse arrived in London in 1938. Karel Bobath in 1939.

They married and together developed a physiotherapy program for the treatment of cerebral palsy, known as the Bobath Concept.

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While Adolf Hitler, in Germany, was exterminating Jews and children with cerebral palsy, a pair of Jews who had escaped from Hitler’s Germany were developing a treatment for children with cerebral palsy.

That’s what Tito’s story is like: circular.

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Karel Bobath and Berta Busse both committed suicide on 19 January 1991.

He was eighty-five. She was eighty-three.

Together, Karel Bobath and Berta Busse developed a method for treating cerebral palsy and they remained together until the moment of their deaths.

Cerebral palsy unites people.

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We took Tito to his Bobath therapist for one or two hours, four days a week.

He had his muscles stretched. He was tossed around in a net. He was put inside a cylinder and rolled around the room. He had an elastic belt tied around his hips. He had his legs immobilized and was then made to turn the top half of his body. He had adhesive tape applied around his lips to stop him dribbling. He was held in an erect posture in front of a mirror. He had to sit down with his knees straight. He was splayed across a large red ball and rolled backward and forward. He was thrown onto a foam mattress. He was encouraged to crawl.

My wife and I enthusiastically accompanied Tito’s gymnastics.

We were happy in that place. We were as united as two old Jewish suicides.

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