The Harris family was enjoying a peaceful, comfortable, upper
middle-class life in Salt Lake City when the traumatic birth of
their second daughter Irene forever changed their outlook,
philosophy and dynamics. Irene was severly brain damaged and at
maturity had the mental capacity of a three-year-old. She never
learned to read or write, was extremely difficult to reason with
and had fierce temper tantrums that took a physical toll, mostly on
inanimate objects and Irene herself, but also on others
occasionally.
Irene was childlike and knew no boundaries. She carried her
dolls everywhere and would engage total strangers in conversation
about them. She was cunning enough to convince servers that it was
her birthday, and when dining out, the Harris family was often
chagrined to see yet another cake with candles arrive at their
table. She believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter
Bunny. No matter what the occasion called for in the way of attire,
she wanted to wear shorts and her Mickey Mouse knee socks.
The family all made allowances for Irene and did everything they
could to make her life as pleasant and happy as possible. Irene
could upset the applecart or throw a monkey wrench in even the best
of plans, and she quite often did, with very little warning that an
upheaval was imminent. And then the rest of the family was left
scrambling to return the household's mayhem to some semblance of
normal. There's that word again --- normal.
When Irene was a young child, very few places existed to care
for the mentally handicapped, and Irene's parents were advised to
put her in an institution. But they refused, and instead adapted
and accommodated as best they could.