Read Online The Keeper: A Life of Saving Goals and Achieving Them by Tim Howard - Free Book Online

today’s kids that TS didn’t have to hold a person back?
    I approached the MetroStars publicity director and said I wanted to come out publicly with TS. He did a double take, as if he didn’t understand what I was saying. My guess is that he—like most people—thought of TS primarily as a “cursing disease.” Then I saw the lightbulb go off for him. Oh, that’s what’s going on. That’s why he’s always clearing his throat. That’s why he’s so damned twitchy.
    I told him something else, too: I told him I wanted to start working with kids in the community who had TS. I asked if he could help me find an organization that would be open to my involvement.
    He put me in touch with Faith Rice, a New Jersey native who was launching a new nonprofit aimed at assisting Jersey families affected by TS. Faith and I spoke first by phone. She told me that her own son, Kim, had TS, and that she’d spent two decades running herself ragged trying to help him.
    Kim was 27 years old now, finally settled in a job where he felt comfortable. But it had taken too long, Faith said, and there hadn’t been nearly enough support. She had big plans, a crummy basement office strewn with discarded office furniture, and not a whole lot else.
    But she was determined. “As you know, Tim, kids with TS are going to have to stand up for themselves every day for the rest of their lives.”
    We met for lunch—me, Faith, my mom, and Faith’s son Kim.
    Faith was an itty-bitty thing, but she charged into that restaurant like a miniature pit bull. I could tell from my first glimpse of her that she had plans for me as well as for herself—plans for the whole wide world, even.
    Kim’s symptoms were pronounced. He jerked his neck and shoulders dramatically. He grunted, and once in a while let out a loud yelp, as if he’d been kicked. The restaurant wasn’t crowded enough to be noisy; the few customers present couldn’t help but hear him. Strangers made eye contact with each other, as if to say, What’s up with that guy?
    Kim noticed and shrugged. “I’m used to it. Mom and I were at Costco recently; she could hear me from one end of the store to the other.”
    Although Kim’s symptoms started at age seven, he wasn’t diagnosed until 17. “I never knew it was an actual condition,” he said. “I just knew I was different. I asked friends sometimes if they ever had these urges. When they said no, I felt really, really alone.”
    “And I felt so alone trying to help him,” Faith added. “Doctors couldn’t tell us what he had. Once we finally figured it out, we couldn’t find information, we couldn’t find guidance, we bounced from doctor to doctor trying to find someone who could help.”
    I glanced at my mom; I felt sure she was thinking about how hard she’d worked to find information, how little there had been.
    As Faith spoke, my eyes kept drifting toward Kim. This was the first time I’d ever spent time with anyone else who had TS. Although Kim’s vocalizations were louder, his motor tics more pronounced than mine, I saw myself in him. There were so many similarities between our stories: the inexplicable urges . . . wondering what in the world was happening . . . feeling alone.
    My mom, I could tell, glimpsed her own mirror image in Faith.
    Driving home that day, Mom said, “Kim’s symptoms were pretty severe, huh? I didn’t realize how lucky we were that your symptoms are mild.”
    Then I was silent. I knew Mom hadn’t meant any harm, but there was something wrong with that word. Mild . Nothing about TS had ever felt mild to me. It was a condition I’d spent half my life trying to hide, trying to conquer.
    But no matter how hard I tried, TS had won, every time.
    “Mom,” I finally said. “I know it may seem like that to you. But I don’t imagine TS ever feels mild for anyone.”
    She thought about that for a while. Then, without speaking, she reached over and took my hand.
    W hen the MetroStars released the news—a