Hope

"There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen." - Rumi

It's been a hard few days.

The skies are gloomy.

The weather is cold.

My interior life duplicates what the exterior world provides.

I talk to someone who spends her days working with families who have children with disabilities who have lost everything in a massive, all-consuming wildfire.

There is no housing for any of them...so they squish themselves into RVs and try to make it work.

The reservoir that provides all of the water for this same community has been contaminated with metals and chemicals and other toxic items all oozing into the water.

No housing.

No potable water.

No jobs.

It's catastrophic.

To top it off, our president enjoys punishing people for their tragedy.

Maybe it's because he has always had a home.

Always had access to drinking water.

Always known safety.

His bitterness seeps into our collective conscience as he tweets his condemnation for the unpreparedness for the fires.

There is no understanding loss.

Or cruelty.

As Jewel sings so well, "Only kindness matters."

These past few days, sadness seeping in...the pain of so many suffering...so much loss...

I gift myself with a visit to my local coffee store.

I delight in my order,

smile my shy smile and say,
"I'd like Enlightenment please."

They steam up some milk, coat the cup with honey, add some green tea and call it Enlightenment.

[It should be noted that I could also order Bliss...but Enlightenment wins out every time.]

On my way out the door, someone calls my name.

It's a person I know only a bit...but she brings sunshine with her...serious calmness...and although I don't know her that well, 

I owe her.

She, of course, does not know my debt.

Has no idea.

19 years ago, when my baby was born with both Down Syndrome and a heart defect...and I was wondering how anyone mothers three children in any successful way, let alone a child with a disability in the mix, she graced my life.

She taught pilates out of her home.

I don't know how I found out about her class.

I have no idea who was watching my three kids 

while I did pilates in her home...

but somehow the universe made it happen and my heart knew what I needed.

I only did it for a few months.

But, she ended every class with this wisdom:

leading us with big deep breaths...

three times...

Inhale gratitude, Exhale judgment.

That four word phrase and those big deep breaths stuck.

They became a part of me.

In and out...

Sucking up gratitude and exhaling away so much.

In that fragile time of my life, I took the tiniest step forward toward self-care with that pilates class.

I didn't know it then. 

Didn't have the vocabulary or the life experience to be able to talk about that in any real way...

I just knew that those moments at pilates helped give me my breath back.

And, my teacher had no idea.

Years passed.

Breathing in gratitude.

Exhaling judgment.

Guiding student teachers or small children in hard moments with big breaths.

I wanted to say thanks.

Kept meaning to...

but it felt like the time had passed.

I let the thank you sit unsaid.

But today, on my way out of the coffee shop, there she was...she stopped me and introduced me to her daughter, Hope, a grad student working at the Perkins School for the Blind (Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller's school!!)...and we got to talking...and talking...and it was Hope who asked,

"How do you guys know each other?"

Her mom referenced it in three words:
Pilates on Parkside.

And, like a red-checkered picnic blanket, the universe spread out the moment before me.

I knew I could finally thank her for the gifts of restoration and care and breathing and kindness she gave to me.

Through tears, I asked if she remembered the way she ended her class all those years ago.

She shook her head no.

I did.

Inhale gratitude.

Exhale judgment.

My time with Hope and her mom was rare and precious...we all could feel it...

and we all knew it couldn't end right then...

but real life was in our way.

Obligations.

Places to be.

We decided to meet later that afternoon.

Who does that?

People who listen to their heart.

In that precious afternoon chunk, Hope and I talked about people with disabilities, opportunities, inclusion, barriers, common sense, education, systemic problems and so much more.

It was kismet.

Magic.

A sunshine spiral.

I still can't believe it happened.

All we have is today...and the people who cross our path...in this moment, 

right now.

For some blessed reason, today, my heart was listening...right when Hope and Dion called my name.

Tonight, I take a deep, fresh breath of gratitude...for kindness and kismet...wrapped up in Hope.

Four Years Later

Four years ago, you may remember this post:

Dear 8th Graders

In it, I write to the 8th graders in Patrick's class.

They had spent nine years together - from Kindergarten to 8th grade - and truthfully, they were an experiment.

Never before, in our local Catholic school 

- or even in our entire diocese -

had a student with Down Syndrome been fully included.

Patrick was included in kindergarten and we had no idea what would happen.

Would it be possible for him to learn?

Would he make friends?

Would he understand what was going on?

Could he make his sacraments?
Go on field trips?

Attend 6th grade sleep away science camp?

Could he be a big buddy to younger students?

The short answer: YES.

A resounding, giant, huge, YES!

But, we weren't sure what the other students would do.

Would their learning be negatively impacted?

NO.

Would they include Patrick?

YES.

Would they accept Patrick?

YES.

We shouldn't be so surprised...

children are children.

They accept everyone.

They find a way.

They figure it out.

It's always the adults who think it can't be done.

Well, four years later, those 8th graders have graduated from high school.

Most are off to college.

We decided to host a reunion for those 8th graders and see what it was like four years later.

Short answer: BETTER THAN BEFORE

They came with their parents...or by themselves...or with a friend...but they knocked on the door, shyly walked in and made their way to the backyard table.

The table comfortably sits 8 people.

But, like the famous clown car...or Mary Poppins' bag...the table kept welcoming more and more...they just kept scooting their chairs further and further out...welcoming the next person so naturally it was as if they had seen each other four hours ago, rather than four YEARS ago.

By the time everyone dribbled in, the kids were in a circle of chairs...

the table merely a nice centerpiece.

I thought they might sit in small groups...catching up on what has happened over the past four years...

but they wanted to sit together.

It was organic.

Natural.

Comfy.

Watching this group, my heart expanded...in fact, it burst.

This.right.here.is what's possible when we welcome everyone to the table.

The table falls away.

It becomes a circle.

As these young adults go out into the world, their heart is inclusive.

They've been given the gift of learning alongside each other and they know what's possible.

It's not a big deal.

It's the way it should be.

Imagine one of these young adults as a teacher.

A doctor giving a prenatal diagnosis of Down Syndrome.

A banker who reads a bank loan document from someone with an intellectual disability.

A small business owner who needs to hire someone.

An apartment owner who will willingly rent his place.

A parent.

Their life experience will give them the courage to say yes to people on the margins...

and that changes everything.

They understand what's possible.

They know that people with disabilities are capable and valuable and have something important to offer the larger group.

They know that it's possible to be friends.

Watching the Class of 2018, I knew these young people would change the world...

just by being in the world.

They know the secret.

We aren't so different, you and me.

Blessings to you, Class of 2018.

May your journey into adult life be filled with love, adventure, friendship and peace.

May you visit home often.

We're going to miss your sunshine...but the world needs your light.

Shine bright, sweet students, shine bright.

My Love Letter To Davis, California

It was 3:50 am, the streets empty and the school dark when I walked Patrick up.

He was carrying his black backpack - full of a lunch, sunscreen, baseball hat, change of clothes, headphones and freedom.

The guy was headed to Disneyland with his senior class.

Graduating in a few days, his senior classmates got the chance to spend two days down in southern California...time at Disneyland plus time at the beach...throw in a dinner at Spaghetti Factory and it was perfection. 

Teacher Scott Bell was there at dawn...along with the school superwoman, Adela, and the director of internships, Susan, and the paraeducator who said YES when asked to support a student who needed it - my son, Patrick - and was willing to attend a field trip that lasted more than 48 hours.

SHOUT OUT to Antwanette!!

There were parents I knew from other parts of my life - also willing to chaperone the adventure.

I walked back to my car in the dark, got into my isolated seat and burst into tears.

How is this possible??

In this moment of independence for Patrick there are so many supporters...

so many willing to find a way...

so many who think nothing of it...

of course, they say.

It's going to be great.

My town, Davis, California, goes like that.

It's a gem of a spot with a creek, double decker buses, a big university and lots of bikes...but like any home...

it isn't the place, it's the people that make it comfy.

I flash back to preschool.

A little co-op preschool that had a tractor in the playground for kids to climb.

We had only been in Davis for a year before Patrick was born and my older daughter, Mary Kate was in the four year old program at Davis Community Church Nursery School - the famous DCCNS.

A co-op means parent participation and when Patrick was born, well, he needed open heart surgery right away at nine weeks old.

I couldn't work at the preschool and felt deep shame about that - so crazy how we hold ourselves to impossible ideals in the middle of a crisis - I couldn't shirk my responsibility!

I wondered if I would have to give up the preschool and find another.

As I was carrying Patrick in his carseat sending Mary Kate off to school, the director of the school, Teacher Betsy,  came up to me.

Inwardly I cringed...could she know that I couldn't work...couldn't hold up my end of the bargain?

She smiled and said words that changed my life:

"When you are considering preschools for Patrick, I hope you will consider us."

Almost 19 years later and still that act of full throttle welcome brings me to tears.

In my world, Patrick was living with almost no choices.

He would be stuck attending whatever school would take him.

He would be unable to participate in regular activities.

He would be limited.

He had Down Syndrome.

Her words took a sledge hammer to the limitations I envisioned.

Her words held an idea that I didn't think existed for Patrick:

CONSIDERATIONS.

I would be considering different options for preschool??

He would have choices??

It was a game changer.

It was also quintessentially Davis.

Davis offers plenty of choices...in all arenas.

Food - Fun - Schools - Life

Why couldn't Patrick have choices?

Patrick DID attend DCCNS as well as the special ed preschool that the school district offered.

He had a blended program and that's pretty much been his entire life.

Our local Catholic school said YES.

Our local Boy Scout troop.

Our local swim team.

Our rec department.

Our art center.

Our city.

Patrick loved singing and dancing and holding the microphone as a little guy.

In third grade we tried a theater class at the art center with the amazing Miss Mindy.

She accepted Patrick, guided the other students and offered opportunities to sing and dance and be part of some of his favorites, including High School Musical and Camp Rock.

Just as he was aging out of Miss Mindy's classes I worried that he was older and possibly more difficult to place...

in that moment came the incredible Dottie.

She wrote her own plays with twists on the classics AND she had an adult son with Down Syndrome.

She understood equity and opportunity and welcomed Patrick into theater during the awkward time of junior high.

As Patrick was moving into high school he was unable to be fully included in high school theater...his one time when he was shut out...and so Acme Theater, a local theater troupe for high schoolers, said YES.

He was included in Camp Shakespeare.

He got a job at our local city pool in the snack bar.

He was fully included in his high school - Da Vinci High School - and able to earn a California high school diploma.

At Da Vinci, Patrick had an internship with Acme Theater.

He made friends, went to dances - where the city provided support (!), created clubs...made his way.

In four days, he graduates from high school.

In this moment of one door closing, another door opens:

Patrick is headed to college.

Patrick has been blessed with a gift beyond measure...a community that believes in him.

He's been taken seriously and given opportunities.

He has been supported without reservation.

He's been enveloped in kindness.

My heart is so full of gratitude and light that I feel like Ironman...with a blinking bright target in the center of my sternum.

How do you thank a town?

How can I possibly express what this town with its big open heart, its sense of let's-figure-it-out, with every person who was willing allowed to transpire for Patrick as he grew up here.

Davis, thank you.

Aquamonsters - Pete and Koren

Miss Mindy

Dottie

Mr. Bell

Mrs. Kirby

Adela

Ms.U

Sarah and Antwanette and Tammy

The entire faculty at Da Vinci High

Mike at Holmes

Father Dan and Mary Kay Bolz

All of the faculty at St. James School, especially Bev.

Teacher Betsy

Teacher Mary

Teacher Ellen

Teacher Lonna

Teacher Patty

And the families at DCCNS and St. James

Acme Theater

Emily Henderson

Hollay Shayegi

Sarah Barnes

Steve Rubin

Ashley Shuell

Robin from First Steps/Early Intervention

Karen Edmiston and Center for Speech Pathology

THANK YOU! 

It is because of your open hearted compassion that Patrick is the person he is.

It's been an incredible ride.

He's off to great places!

All thanks to you.

The Last IEP or How A White Poppy Blooms

                                        

IEPs suck.
There's no other way around it.

I've thought about this a lot...having been through many, many, many.

It feels like we could make them easier on the mama's heart.
We could just stop talking about all of the many ways the student isn't measuring up and start considering the one-of-a-kind, unrepeatable gifts they bring to the class.

Why must we test and test and test...
using measurement tools that have not been created for people with intellectual disabilities at all?

I'm pretty sure I would fail a test in Chinese...it wasn't made for me.

Why do we force kids with Down Syndrome to take tests that weren't made for them and then act surprised when the scores reveal that the test wasn't made for them?

Why do we make educating children so hard?

Why do we sit as a panel of experts judging, critiquing, analyzing...
while the parent waits with dread at the guilty verdict:
We pronounce your child disabled.

Why do we see disability as brokenness?

Why can't we see the rare gift of the individual?



Before Patrick, I would have been bothered by that bold white poppy.
I would have disgustedly thought it should fit in.

Its difference would annoy me.

Today I see that poppy and cheer...or, in this case, stop and take a pic.

You, Go, White Poppy!

How did you become white?
Aren't you your bad self, standing there so bold and defiant.

Best of all, I marvel at the environment.
Somehow, some way, the circumstances were configured so that this white poppy could bloom...alongside the orange ones.

How can we help our classrooms be like that?

What does it take?

It sure doesn't take a panel of poppies sitting around a table pointing out the whiteness...
or should we say "severe lack of orange-ness"...the deficit in orange is noticeable.

Spoiler alert: it's never becoming orange.

And, yet, it is beautiful and capable of being a white poppy perfectly and
needs no panel of experts telling it what to do.

*****

I propose this for the next IEP you must attend:

Ask them to tell you about your white poppy.
Ask them to SEE the beauty in your white poppy.
Ask them to understand that the white poppy is never never turning orange and yet it must live among the orange bounty.

What can they do to ensure the vibrancy and flourishing of the white poppy
among so many orange ones?

Let's just start by valuing the white poppy.

Let's stop trying to make the white poppy anything else.

Let's just notice the beauty...and work to fertilize the soil and water it enough and offer sunlight.

*****

Today, we reached the end of a long long journey.
No more IEPs and panels and tests.

I can hardly believe it.

Patrick's journey through kindergarten to high school is almost complete.
Because Patrick is graduating with a high school diploma,
he will have no transition services
from 18 -21.

Somehow, miraculously, my white poppy has been able to grow/thrive/learn/live with all the
orange poppies.

Yes, there were people who thought that my white poppy didn't belong...
but there were way, way more gardeners who saw his unusual beauty
and created the climate for him to thrive.

I am so grateful to the teachers who said yes.
So grateful for the willing hearts.
So humbled by the gift of educators who found a way to welcome a white poppy
into an orange world.



Today, my 18 year old son with Down Syndrome signed his own damn IEP.

He shared his hopes and dreams - his strengths and his struggles.
He offered his vision for his future to a bunch of adults.
He acknowledged his heroes and dreamed out loud.

I sincerely doubt if I could have done anything close to that when I was 18.

It was a crystal clear moment of courage and clarity.

I was sidelined and in the cheering section...
as it should be.

*****

I can only echo the words that are at the top:
Believe in your child so much the world thinks you're crazy.
Then believe more.

The problem isn't that we dream too big...
I know that much.

Today, I am grateful for the grace of endings, the blessing of beginnings and the power of prayer.
Lord, hold him close.

Intention + Action = Magic!

Today I went to the Magical Bridge Playground in Palo Alto, California...

I was tagging along with Torrie Dunlap, CEO of Kids Included Together.

We dished about inclusion and what it means.

We talked mindsets and paradigms.

We lamented how hard everyone makes it...when really all it takes is:

"You wanna play, great! Let's figure it out."

And then we made our way to this playground.

This vision of one mom who happened to have a daughter with some differences.

Olenka's daughter was about 6 when Olenka couldn't shake this idea:

can we build a playground where children of all abilities will be engaged and interested?

What does an accessible playground look like?

Do we really need a playground like this?

Are there really that many kids?

Olenka uses the statistic of 1 in 5.

1 in 5 kids have some type of disability.

20%

That number is larger than the number of women getting breast cancer.

That is super close to the number of second language learners we have in public schools in the state of California. (22%)

It's a ton of kids...

and YES, they need a place that welcomes them too.

Olenka could have just noticed the problem and thought about it.

She could have wished for some place for her daughter, Ava.

She could have just sighed and hoped for someone else to make some changes...

but she didn't.

She searched the internet.

She talked to playground designers and early childhood experts and experts on children with disabilities and then she began to create some ideas of her playground in her mind.

She formulated a plan.

She fund-raised and she got going.

It took her six years to create the Magical Bridge Playground.

Here it is:

Where EVERYONE can play!

A quiet space for children who need to take a break.

Kinderbells...made from used oxygen tanks. 

These swings invite multiple kids to swing together...and have fun together.

The incredible magical harp...triggered by lasers...just makes you want to dance and move to the music.

An ingenious merry-go-round for everybody...a huge hit with all kids.

Some thoughts from The Kindness Corner...one of my favorite spots.

Olenka's vision focused on kindness...everywhere.
In the rules posted clearly for all to see, within the quotes sprinkled all over, in the opportunities for play for everybody.

Today, on any given day, all sorts of kids with all sorts of family members are having a magical time together...playing and laughing and connecting.

When you go there, you can feel the unity.
You can feel the joy.
You can feel the appreciation of each child.

Tonight I'm inspired, not just by Olenka's intention...
but by her action...
using both, she created some magic...
and we are all better for it. 

Olenka, three cheers for you! 

"Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see." -- Mark Twain

The Violet Patch

"The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it --

basically because you feel good, very good, when you are

near or with them."  -- Charles Bukowski

For the past few days, I've been visiting a violet patch.

You might not understand.

I've been hanging out with a crowd of people that are rare and beautiful...

often over-looked

or unnoticed

or easily dismissed...

this past week-end they were a significant chunk of the population.

I attended the National Down Syndrome Convention

in Phoenix, Arizona.

"Think of typical people as daisies -- we are common, beautiful and we grow easily.  Think of people with Down Syndrome as violets -- they are rare, beautiful in their gorgeous, velvety way and need more care and attention in order to thrive.  

They are not broken daisies.

They are violets living in a daisy world and our world is so much better for their 

beauty and difference."

That's my way of condensing down Kay Drais's  powerful and moving letter to educators,

Violets and Daisies.

*****

In our family, whenever we see someone with Down Syndrome, our code word is violet.

We are excited and eager to connect eyes, catch a glimpse of the person and if we're really lucky have a conversation.

In our town of 60,000 people a genetic disorder that happens 1 in every 691 births 

just isn't present at all. 

Patrick, who is almost 16, has not a single person his age in our town with Down Syndrome.

There should be close to 100 people with Down Syndrome in our town,

but our violet patch is tiny indeed.

So, we cherish the violets...

cheer them on...

and notice their absence.

Our garden is so much better with variety.

I love the happy daisy.

White with a yellow center, I admire it's cheerfulness

and its ability to thrive.

But that doesn't mean I can't pause and enjoy a violet too.

What is lost when we have less diversity?

What is gained?

Baskin-Robbins has 31 flavors for a reason.

Not everyone likes vanilla.

Yet, it seems that in our world, we are getting so

sanitized and homogenized,

that our ability to deal with difference is stunted.

And our ability to cherish and honor difference is lost completely.

*****

So, you can imagine the joy and freedom of having a convention celebrating Down Syndrome.

Imagine how the families feel.

The kids.

The teenagers.

The adults with Down Syndrome...who are busy living their lives and having relationships and 

yeah, being adults.

I decided at the last minute to take Patrick and Caroline.

I thought they would like the pools and the hotel...

turns out for Patrick he found his people.

When Tim from Tim's Place Restaurant in Albuquerque, New Mexico came up onto the stage it was as if Tony Robbins had made an appearance.

Patrick and his friend Jamie (who also happens to have Down Syndrome) would pump their fists and cheer, "Oh Yeah!" after every tidbit of inspiration from Tim.

Tim danced onto the stage to Pharrell Williams song, "Happy" --

and the crowd danced too. :)

Then he told the audience that he had an awesome life...and that he was going to share

six ways to have an awesome life.

I pulled out my phone and started taking notes --

who doesn't want an awesome life?

Here are Tim's gems:

1) Love people -- pretty clear here -- just love the ones your with.all.of.them

2) Work hard -- he told the crowd that he used to spend a lot of time on the computer and watching TV but with the help of his friends he began exercising more and lost 70 pounds.

3) Believe in Yourself -- he always wanted to own a restaurant and his family helped him believe that he could

4) Believe in Others -- with the success of Tim's restaurant, he wanted a way to "pay-it-forward" and so he began a non-profit called Tim's Big Love Foundation where Tim gives help to other inspiring entrepreneurs who have an intellectual disability. His friend, Matt, came up to talk about the bakery he owns and how he got his start from Tim's foundation. Incredible!

5) Be happy -- don't be afraid to shake it (as in dancing!)
6) Be the light -- "The world can be a scary place and some people want to be scared.  Not me." -Tim

Show people the light in a dark world. 

And then he started dancing again...and so did the rest of us.

Here, among a solid chunk of violets and a typical group of daisies, we rocked it.

We danced the night away and got our groove on.

*****

Life is what you make it.

For people with Down Syndrome this message is how they live.

They make it awesome.

They know what matters and all the rest just floats down a lazy river for them.

I wish everyone could hang in a violet patch...

filled with free souls...

love and light.

If you get a chance, grab it.

You just might learn what awesome really is.

A Powerful Force For Love

Today I had Patrick's IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for his transition to high school.

I wasn't expecting too much since we had recently had another IEP meeting and pretty much set up all of the expectations for next year and planned it all out ahead of time.

This was just a more formal hand off:

You, junior high group, formally pass the torch to the high school group.

It was an intimate affair.

One school psychiatrist. One inclusion specialist from the high school. 

One junior high inclusion specialist and me.

And the person of honor: Patrick.

So we started out the meeting in the usual way.

Let's list Patrick's strengths.

Patrick, you go first.

Patrick was prepared.

Mike, his awesome inclusion specialist, had worked with him.

He listed off his reading, his love of Shakespeare, his love of drama...

and then he paused.

So the team, ever conscious of time, and the need for a steady pace, stepped in.

Mike asked pointedly: "Any more strengths, Patrick?"

Patrick was thinking about it.

I wanted to jump in and list the many, many strengths that I know he has.

But I resisted.

I distracted myself: I pondered how I would have handled this question 

asked of me in a room full of adults as a 15 year old.

I would have said way more ummmms.

[Once again, I considered how faulty this whole process was...

how contrived and forced.

What 15 year old would want to discuss his or her strengths or challenges in a room full of adults?

What adult would?

Asking a typical student to do this is hard.

Asking a teenager with a developmental disability to do this is Herculean.]

Patrick ummed for only a short second and then he hit it out of the park:

"Oh, and I'm a powerful force for love."

What on earth?

Never.

Honestly.

Ever. 

Have I said that phrase.to anyone.

There was a silence in the room.

I wasn't sure if they had heard him...but Mike did.

I agreed with Patrick and chimed in.

"Yes, he's a powerful force for love...but I'm not sure where that will go in our paperwork."

In my mind, I'm in a trance.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Why, oh why, isn't that measurable?

Why does an ability to move fractions into percents seem to this audience as a greater strength?

Where's our humanity?

*****

What I love about this whole episode is that to those of us who have our days graced with someone with Down Syndrome this whole conversation doesn't seem so far-fetched.

People with Down Syndrome have a remarkable ability to keep it real.

To be candid and spot on.

They get to the heart of a situation.

They speak their minds...

without pretense or hidden agendas.

We just have to listen.

Or their genius gets overlooked...or lost...or worst of all, remains unknown.

No adult took the bait.

Patrick's comment went untouched.

Except for me.

His words just echoed. Over and over.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

His words became the haunting opportunity that remains largely missed in our schools.

Students with intellectual disabilities should be,

MUST BE,

included in typical classrooms...for this very reason.

THEY ARE A POWERFUL FORCE FOR LOVE.

And our classrooms need way more love.

Our typical students could sure use some love...

some acceptance...

some social, emotional acknowledgement.

Our schools need this powerful force,

way more than fractions or dates in history or grammar.

LOVE is the answer.

*****

Still, hours later, I'm hypnotized by those words.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Maybe he said them just for my benefit.

They have forever changed me.

Patrick's words have become a mantra...

a challenge...

a request from the universe.

Most of all, they have become my heart's desire...

a daily affirmation...

to live more forcefully...

for love.

Let's be a powerful force for love. Today.

The Alchemy of Friendship

I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately.

About new worlds...only made by the intersection of two people's paths at just the right moment.

You have to be ready.

The other person has to be willing.

Some sort of magic happens and like a chemical experiment...

where there were once two separate chemicals, now there is unity...

friendship.

Joy.

Comfort.

Supreme comfort.

The ability to just be yourself without pretense and let the friend be the same.

Such a gift.

It can't be orchestrated.

It can't be forced.

We can wish for it.

Pray for it.

Dream about it...

but like a kite catching air,

it has to have just the right angle,

just the right amount of wind,

the exact moment when majestically it soars.

*****

When you have a child with a disability, you wonder in the dark of night if that child will be able to connect and have a friend...

not someone who is nice to them.

That's too easy.

No, you dream of something deeper.

A genuine enjoyment of each other.

Shared secrets.

Inside jokes.

Laughter and lightness woven with acceptance.

Like a unicorn, this kind of friendship seems mythical.

Is it possible?

The answer is yes.

Patrick and Christopher at 6th grade camp.

These two have been friends for a long time.

They don't need much.

They find ways to laugh and have fun almost immediately.

There is a realness and a genuine joy with each other that is palpable.

There's no awkward tension of trying too hard...or wanting it too much.

No, there's just a couple of goofballs.

Sunken into the comfy couch of friendship.

Patrick and Christopher were in the same class from first grade to sixth grade.

Then, in 6th grade, Christopher moved to another school.

They were still friends but for 7th and 8th grade they rarely had a chance to connect.

This year, in 9th grade, Patrick moved over to the same school as Christopher.

They picked up where they left off.

Sharing lunch time and laughs.

I haven't been around these two really at all...

I just hear the snippets of their friendship at the dinner table.

But a few weeks ago, I had to drive both of them to a week-end adventure two hours away.

Listening to them talk in the back seat was transformational for me.

I never had the opportunity to become friends with someone with a disability when I was a kid.

I really can't imagine it.

I try and picture how I would have been...

would I have slowed down and taken the time to really see this person?

I cringe and know that the answer sure feels like no.

How did Christopher know to do this?

Are you born with a compassionate heart...

or do you build it like a drip sand castle

drip by drip

just by being submerged in a world of difference and diversity?

Like friendship, I think it is a magical alchemy...

the heart is ready and the opportunity bubbles up creating the solution needed for friendship to form.

I know this much: inclusion is part of the answer.

*****

In the back of the car, two 15 year olds talk about driving and getting licenses.

Christopher reveals that he already has his drivers' permit, 

the first step to getting a California drivers' license.

Patrick gives him the appropriate oooh's and aaah's...truthfully impressed.

He doesn't press further...but Christopher does.

He asks Patrick if he has the app on his phone to take practice written tests for driving.

When Patrick reveals that he doesn't have the app, Christopher downloads the app onto Patrick's phone and then proceeds to go through a sample test with him.

This quote:

"Really, Patrick, you can totally do this. Most of the answers are just common sense. I'll help you."

made my inner Rocky run up the steps and dance with my inner Mother Teresa...

who does this??

The answer:

a friend.

A real friend presumes competence.

A real friend supports and encourages dreams.

A real friend shows the path.

A real friend believes in you.

A real friend takes a selfie and posts it to Instagram and watches the likes pile up...

Well, I think there can be some debate on the last bit...

but this pic is the essence of real friends.

Comfortable.

Companionable.

Caring.

These two have reignited their friendship...the world is better for it.

Just like the two individuals, this moment in time will never come again.

In the Japanese culture it is called Ichigo Ichie. 

One opportunity. One encounter.

We must cherish the chances we're given for friendship.

Seize them.

Reach out.

Laugh and linger.

Try harder.

Wait and wait and wait...and reach out some more.

Friendship is too important to let slip away.

We can't explain it...

or analyze it...

but we know it's no myth and all magic.

Today I'm grateful for big hearts and kind friends,

authentic and real in their relationship.

Thank you for showing me how it's done.

Thank you for sharing a bit of the magic with me.