They Are All Special Needs

Clyde Xi of Village of the Stars (8/12/2025)

In common discourse, “special needs” children are typically associated with visible physical disabilities. I challenge this narrow definition and propose that all orphaned and abandoned children—regardless of whether their physical, mental, or emotional struggles are visible—should be considered children with special needs.

Their losses are profound. Their vulnerabilities, though often hidden, are just as real. In the span of one week, three very different events reinforced this belief in ways I could never ignore.

1. Terry 

Terry was a vibrant and beautiful 27-year-old Chinese adoptee. She was training to become a pilot, a dancer, and a world traveler. She embraced life fully and was planning her next adventure—marrying the love of her life. No one would have thought to label her “special needs.”

Then everything changed. She was diagnosed with a very aggressive and rare form of leukemia. The only potential cure was a bone marrow transplant. Friends and family searched desperately for a match, but time was not on their side. Asian individuals are underrepresented on the bone marrow registry, making a good match far less likely.

The tragic truth is that her best chance for a quick and effective match would have been her biological family—completely out of reach for someone abandoned as an infant. Terry passed away shortly afterward. Her fate, heartbreakingly, was sealed the moment she was separated from her birth family. She had always been a child with special needs—though no one could see it.

2. Jenny

Jenny, 22, is an athletic gymnast and diver—strong, confident, and thriving. By all appearances, she would never be considered “special needs.” Recently, through what can only be called a miracle, she found her birth father through a DNA match. I was asked to interpret during their online reunion.

Having done this before, I expected a roller coaster of emotions—highs and lows. I was still hopeful. But the meeting, if put mildly, did not go well.

Her Chinese father, now frail and emotionally distant, could barely communicate. He needed assistance just to join the video call. When asked why he had abandoned Jenny as a baby, he replied flatly, “Too many girls.” He explained that he had placed her in a box and left her by a provincial highway.

When asked her birthday, he said he had forgotten it, though he remembered writing it down on a piece of paper he lost long ago. Jenny asked if he had given her a name; his answer was simply “no.”

His words shattered the fragile connection Jenny had just begun to build. In that moment, she was abandoned a second time. This wound cut deeper than the first. Her healing will take far longer—if it is even possible. She, too, has always been a child with special needs—now even more so.

And her birth mother? We were told she left the father long ago, taking Jenny’s siblings with her. No one knows where she is.

3. Amelia

Then, it hit home.

My own daughter, Amelia, has limb differences in her hands and feet. Yet she has managed most things independently. With just one small finger on each hand, she writes more beautifully than most of us. She dances like an angel—even though much of her feet are missing. We never truly thought of her as having special needs.

She’s now 17—sassy, funny, and full of life.

At a routine school physical last week, a blood test revealed something shocking: critically high cholesterol levels. A follow-up confirmed the diagnosis—familial hypercholesterolemia, a life-threatening genetic condition. It was inherited from her birth family—one she will never know.

Had she grown up in that family, this condition might have been discovered early, monitored, and managed. Instead, we were blindsided. We are now consulting medical specialists to determine treatment and dietary changes to prevent irreversible damage to her health. On the surface, she takes it well—but the weight of it rests heavily on me. I think often of the past she never had a choice in.

The trauma of this “invisible inheritance” reminded us: she, too, is a special needs child.

Conclusion

Village of the Stars is a non-profit organization founded about three years ago to connect American adoptive families with the Chinese community through financial, cultural, and emotional support projects. We have helped more than 200 adopted children from China—children just like Terry, Jenny, and Amelia.

One of the most common questions I’m asked is whether a child has special needs. I used to hesitate before answering. Now, I always say yes.

Special needs aren’t always visible. They aren’t always physical. They often lie buried beneath the surface—born of loss, separation, and the unknown. Every abandoned child carries a story and, often, invisible wounds. These children deserve to be seen, supported, and understood—not just for what can be diagnosed, but for what has been endured.

Call to Action

If these stories move you, don’t let them fade into the background. You can be part of rewriting the future for children like Terry, Jenny, and Amelia. Join us in raising awareness and resources through various projects of Village of the Stars, advocating for better medical and emotional support, and building communities where no child’s hidden struggles go unseen. Whether through registering as a bone marrow donor, assisting birth family searching, or simply being their friends and sharing their stories, your actions matter.

Every child—regardless of what the world sees—deserves to be recognized, valued, and given the tools to heal. Let’s open our eyes to their invisible needs and stand together to meet them.

To read more details about various project funds, please visit our website at https://www.villageofthestars.org/our-projects.