Keeping it All in Perspective

Some of you may already know by now that birthday parties of “typical” children are particularly tough for me. I don’t mean to whine, but because so many things are going on all at once that our children are expected to participate in, I can see exactly where my child falls behind the mark. It’s nothing bad, just eye-opening, kind of like hearing your kid’s PT tell you that your almost-4-year-old is at about a 24-month level physically. But that’s been hashed out already in a previous post. Add to the mix that you’re generally with a bunch of parents you don’t already know, and you always wonder, “what do they see?” Do they feel pity? Do they just thank their lucky stars that it’s not their kid? Who knows? Maybe they see/feel/think nothing outside the usual sights/feelings/thoughts that they have at any given time. Now to be fair, those parents have never been anything but friendly with me, and I can stand and gab with them like anyone else. Except when I’m chasing my child around to a) keep her from running out the door to get to the room where the birthday cake is hiding in all it’s Dora-covered glory, b) keep her from getting hurt on the equipment, c) keep her still when all the kids are supposed to be sitting quietly and listening to the instructor tell them the rules. Rules? Hah! Trust me, Sammi is not listening. And even if she was, I don’t think she’d care for them much. Samantha’s kind of hot and cold with these kinds of parties. Sometimes she’ll really participate and get into the action, following along, singing, etc.. Usually she’ll get ridiculously and uncharacteristically shy, arms folded across her chest, head down, pouting. And here I am, doing all the exaggerated motions just like the instructor, like a pathetically ineffective mime, trying to get her to join in.

Yesterday’s birthday party at The Little Gym was a very interesting experience for me. A mixed bag of sorts. Although Samantha was being completely uncooperative, she sure had her moments. While all the children were sitting in a circle (Sammi struggling to get off my lap) to listen to The Rules, the birthday girl, a very sweet, typically-developing child from her class at school (I don’t know why she’s in Special Ed, but I’m sure there is a good reason), spotted her and called out to her, “Sammi, Sammi!!! I missed you, Sammi! I missed you!” With a nudge, Samantha went and sat down next to her, giving her a big hug. I think every parent in there must’ve breathed a collective, “awwwwww” at that moment. I think every parent in there must’ve seen my eyes tear up, too. It was a stunner.

Perspective came to me with another child from her class, a boy with multiple physical and intellectual disabilities. Samantha has mentioned him before when we’ve asked her about school (well, she says his name frequently, anyway). He didn’t seem to interact much with others, and his mother had to stay close by him, monitoring all of his actions. While I watched her struggle to contain him on occasion, his size nearly half of hers, I saw that as he grows up her struggle will be infinitely compounded as his strength and size increase proportionately. She was so sweet and gentle with him, and I spoke to her when I could (when one or the other of us was not preoccupied). I didn’t recall seeing any of the other moms talk to her. I wondered if she felt isolated. I wondered what she saw. While I was feeling frustration that my child was throwing a tantrum about having to eat pizza before cake and while I had to stay near her to keep her from grabbing the cake off her neighbor’s plate, this mother praised her son for trying the cake, for chewing it so well, and for sitting in his chair instead of throwing himself on the ground. For all the times I wished Samantha could sit and enjoy her pizza and cake just like the other kids, did this mother wish her son could just eat his like Samantha? What did she see? What was her perspective like?

My daughter has amazing empathy. Makes me realize what’s truly important. As this little boy threw a small tantrum and cried on his mother’s shoulder, Samantha walked over to him, put her arms around him, hugged him and told him “’s’okay.” He calmed down instantly. His mother turned to me and gave me a look that I, myself, had had just a short time earlier. A look of amazement and hope that our little people can see past the surface and truly feel for each other.