Multiplication

I feel the heat of a social media frenzy.

It makes me cringe.

I feel embarrassed.

I completely sympathize with Cam Newton.

Why?

An email I wrote in a passionate moment to a school that denied my son entrance has been revealed.

My 20 year old daughter, sitting in her apartment in college was so disgusted 

she wanted to let it loose.

Like some message in a bottle, she shouted into Facebook, and shared her conflict and disappointment at the relative hypocrisy of a school that holds the motto, "Men For Others".

It seems that one of our sons is a Man.

Our other son, with Down Syndrome, is the Other.

I actually wasn't surprised by their decision.

I knew it would be a tough sell.

Before Patrick, my son with Down Syndrome, I fully admit that I would be the one not letting people in...not believing in the capability, the equality, the urgency of learning together.

I don't resent Jesuit.

I don't want to hate on them.

Or shame them.

Or even torment them.

Trust me, the heat they must be feeling from this social media blitz is more than they are used to...

and must feel uncomfortable.

Mary Kate's post on Facebook was not something I encouraged.

In fact, I actively discouraged it.

I wanted the whole process to stay private.

Like I was negotiating with a terrorist, I was afraid the pin might drop.

Jesuit had all the aces.

I was dependent upon them for even the slightest, tiniest welcome.

I knew it was a game I would most likely lose.

And it didn't feel good.

But Mary Kate was adamant.

She wanted to do this...

and when it happened, I just let it be.

Here is her post:

"This past week my brother was denied admission to Jesuit High School Sacramento. The high school my older brother attended. The high school my family has endorsed and supported over many years. Patrick was not denied because he was unqualified, but rather because he has Down Syndrome.

It's difficult to believe in a religion that is based on "treating everyone the way we would want to be treated"  and that "we are all made in the likeness and image of God"  when situations like this occur. But I refuse to be sad or mad about this. The only people who should feel sad are the administrators, teachers and students of Jesuit High School who will never get the opportunity and privilege of knowing Patrick, not only as a student but as a friend. 

My mother said it best in this beautifully crafted statement: "You can know that by not allowing Patrick into your school, you are continuing to marginalize a segment of the population that is already the most marginalized group in our country. You are perpetuating the myth that disability is such a hurdle that you cannot get over it. You are even contributing to the abortion rate -- because any student that knows Patrick knows that his is a life worth living and would not be able to condone abortion.  

I will continue to pray for all of the people, like you, in leadership positions to open their hearts and minds to students like Patrick. The educational research is irrefutable. The academic scores go up for all students -- the social emotional health of all students improves. It is worth every effort. And yet, we continue to be stymied.

Why?

Fear? the perception of the student being a burden? The pervasive prejudice that is allowed to continue in our country toward people with intellectual disabilities? 

In this Year of Mercy , all we can do is redouble our efforts and continue to work tirelessly on behalf of the least of our brothers. You can be assured that I will be doing just that." 

Siblings are virtually never heard.

When do they get to say their peace?

When do they get to acknowledge that they live in a world that sees disability as brokenness 

when their reality is the opposite experience.

Mary Kate sees Patrick as an equal...deserving of opportunities.

She understands that he will need support, 

but she doesn't think the two things are mutually exclusive.

Mary Kate posted on Facebook on Friday night.

24 hours later, her post has been shared close to 300 times.

Shared by strangers, friends and family.

Shared by groups that work for inclusion and families that dream of inclusion.

Shared over and over and over again.

********

When you have a child with a disability, you feel very alone.

Isolated.

Frightened.

Insecure.

Vulnerable.

You feel the weight of making every decision carefully and intentionally.

You cringe when you ask for an opportunity.

You hold your breath...and expect the no.

Sometimes you are surprised by a quick and kind yes.

But many times you hear the words, "we just can't do it".

You sigh and wonder what it's like to have all that power.

You wish they could see your child as just a child.

You connect with others...but feel alone.

Watching this post get shared over and over again felt like the craziest,

 most universe-binding hug I've ever had.

Strangers stood side by side with family members...all sharing the story...

and leaving the question hanging...

Why say no?

********

It's been the kids who have been amazing.

Watching both of my older kids advocate out loud has been breath-taking...

but their friends...

their articulate disappointment...

their stunning shock...

their "I stand with you" solidarity,

 that is the inspiration as well.

They get it.

They always do.

Us adults need to just get out of the way sometimes.

I don't know how the story is going to end.

I don't need to.

For this minute, on this day, I feel such tremendous community and connection and care that I can barely soak it all in.

Our world is changing.

Tiny baby step by tiny baby step questions are getting asked...

by the kids!

Left in their hands I feel so much hope.

When Patrick's classmates are old enough to be principals, they won't say no.

That idea alone: a parent asking and hoping...and a classmate of Patrick's remembering his or her own experience of what inclusion is really like...and saying yes....

that right there is the good stuff.

Mary Kate, you did it differently than me...but you sure did a beautiful thing.

Wish out loud.

I know that grace.

I know that beauty.

Let's keep doing it.

Together.

Being Nice Isn't Nice

My heart is so heavy today.

Discouraged.

Worn down.

Feeling like I was scaling a mountain and I fell...way, way down...and I'm stuck.

I recently listened to this podcast about expectations.

It is amazing and terrifying and profound.

It tells the story of a man who lost his eyes to cancer before he turned two...both eyeballs removed.

Completely blind.

Only, not really.

Because, like all two year olds, he adjusted.

He intuitively started clicking and making noises to echo-locate in his world...just like bats.

He got so good at it that he uses a cane as a very minimal guide often just holding it up by his side.

He can ride a bike.

Yes, no lie.

This blind man, rides a bike on his own by clicking as he goes.

He maneuvers through his world, very capably. 

He has his freedom...

but because this is so rare for blind people, he goes around the world explaining how it can be done.

Proving all of us who don't know any better, wrong.

So, all of us, with our über compassionate hearts who want to reach out and hold a blind person by the elbow and guide him along, take it all down a notch right now. 

It's not necessary.

What does Daniel Kish need from us?

Opportunity.

An open mind.

Equality.

To be seen.

*****

I have a son with Down Syndrome.

His name is Patrick.

He is 15 years old -- capable and reliable and smart.

He's someone who always knows where his cell phone is -- much better than me in that regard --

and charges it up faithfully.

Patrick, as you may know, loves theater and Shakespeare and being in plays. He's been in over twenty performances of all kinds.  He memorizes scripts; writes his own scripts; plans cast lists and eagerly awaits the latest soundtrack from his latest Broadway favorite.

I know that's not the message that most of the world gets when you find out about 

Down Syndrome...but it's the truth.

Yes, he needs to be supported in his learning.

But in his living?

He is fine. Thank you very much.

He just needs to be seen.

He needs to be given opportunities and support.

But isn't that what we all need?

Tonight was the play that Patrick has been preparing for since early November.

He didn't get a part so he was allowed to do tech.

He was excited to be in charge of a spotlight.

The only problem was...he wasn't in charge of a spotlight.

He was in charge of following along in the script and cueing the student who was using the spotlight.

Ummm...that's not a job.

We all know that the student doing the spotlight knew the cues and needed no reminding.

I am cringing thinking of Patrick taking this job so very seriously, offering the cues, while the student who was doing the spotlight just played along.

That job which was no job sent a devastating message of incompetence and unreliability to every single student performing in the play...and every audience member...and every faculty member.

That message isn't one of inclusion.

It's one of exclusion.

A message of being set aside.

A message of:

you're only good enough to breathe the same air...not actually work on the same play.

Ironically, the play is called Metamophoses.

So much change and growth could have happened.

Should have happened.

But people who had very good eyesight turned out to be unable to see. Blind to the opportunity.

People with very big hearts and genuine concern for students tried to be nice.

But nice isn't nice.

Reinforcing stereotypes is never nice.

Lowering your expectations is not compassionate.

The result of these good intentions: people in the margins stay right there.

*****

I don't know how you help someone to see.

How you change a perception.

All I can do is show up with my kid and hope for the best at every opportunity.

He knows what to do.

He just needs a chance...

a chance to be seen.

God bless Patrick.

Who took his job that wasn't a job and did his level best.

That's all you can ask of your child.

But I can ask the world to do better.

I can ask the world to blink.

Rub your eyes.

Pause for one minute and contemplate who you are not seeing.

Who do you overlook -- even with good intentions?

Who sits on the margins of your world?

Can you expand your view of the horizon a little bit more?

Who can you reach out to and lift up?

World, open your eyes.

You are missing out.

******

*UPDATE*

Sometimes, very rarely, things tie up with a bow.

They circle around and make sense.

This is one of those times.

After an early morning email to the director with many of these same thoughts enclosed, 

the director, kindly, thoughtfully, responded with his eyes wide open.

He had a second chance and he used it.

Tonight, the last night of the play, Patrick worked the spotlight.

Someone else read the script.

He stood on a cafeteria table...

"it gave me balance" he delightfully noted,

and used the pink or blue lens and shone that spotlight right where it needed to go.

He did it.

Awareness + second chances = opportunity

I'm grateful for a director who was willing to think about it.

Grateful for kindess.

Grateful for grace in the ordinary.

All my heart can say is thank you.

To Thine Own Self Be True

The guy likes Shakespeare.

I've told you that before...over here.

He walks around with a beat up MacBeth book in his hand and yes, he has huge chunks of it memorized.

For his birthday, his wise and thoughtful aunt got him a similar version of Hamlet.

It's called Shakespeare Made Easy.

On the left hand side of the page is the original text.  

On the right hand side is the translation or an easier version.

So, he's been walking around for a few weeks with Hamlet in hand...in restaurants, carrying it to speech,  thrown into my bike basket.  I had a friend who saw him in the waiting room at speech reading Hamlet come up to me and kind of ask out loud if this was real.

Did he like Hamlet?

YES.

He does...really.

As soon as she thought it was real, she turned to Patrick and started to dish...

who was his favorite character?  

What did he think of Hamlet?

We had stumbled onto another lover of the British playwright.

I think that as a way to diffuse, explode and crack away the myth that people with Down Syndrome are stupid, we should just have them carry around some texts of Shakespeare.

It blows people's minds.

Like looking in a fun house mirror they just aren't sure of what they see.

We like to place people in tiny, little, immovable boxes.

It's more comfortable that way...

but sometimes they don't fit in.

Sometimes the stereotype cracks.

People have to stop and rethink certain givens that they've trusted their whole life.

And if they stop and rethink that one, who knows, maybe there are a whole bunch of other certainties that just aren't that certain any more.

Powerful stuff.

But only if you're given the chance...

only if the opportunity is seized.

So, we took a chance and signed Patrick up with other teen-age Shakespeare fans for a two week camp.

It was all day long with typical kids and real actors and directors who are staging some Shakespeare for a festival in our town.

He got up each day energized and excited to go...but wouldn't tell us too much.

He didn't get the script for Much Ado About Nothing until midweek of the second week.

What had they been up to all this time??

Patrick got the part of Benedick for Act I and Don Pedro for Act II.

That, right there, was something he'd never considered before...

he fiddled with that idea, resisted it for a few days, but gradually came to know that you could play two parts.

The play of Much Ado About Nothing was going to be presented on Friday, 

just two days after getting the script.

Patrick began memorizing, repeating and rehearsing in his room...

but he didn't have enough time.

Thursday night he was worried.

He was used to knowing his lines (and everybody else's) -- he couldn't believe he wouldn't be ready.

But the joy of being a part of the play and a part of this group motivated him to accept the truth and just use the script when needed.

So today at 3pm, Caroline and I showed up for a little Shakespeare.

I'm always on pins and needles at things like this...you just never know how it's going to go.

But this was a group who shared a passion.

A group where he spoke the language.

A group where he belonged.

He didn't have to earn his way in...he just had to love Shakespeare and that was good enough.

The little play was a whole lot more...it had improv, movement, singing some explanation of who Shakespeare was as a person...and yes the entirety of 

Much Ado About Nothing.

Patrick was a part of everything.

Before my very eyes I watched a metamorphosis of unsure junior high kid into full high schooler...

confident and true to himself.

I was teary thinking of my friends with young children with Down Syndrome who continue to be denied entrance into this world of acceptance and inclusion.

If only those naysayers could have seen the improv!

I'm so grateful to a group of actors who have created a sanctuary for kids who love Shakespeare and allowed each teen the freedom to come as you are and take away all that you can.

For costumes for the show the kids were supposed to wear black.

We missed the memo.

Patrick came home the night before the show and created the costume he thought would work.

It wasn't black...

but I got no last minute phone call...

no rescuing the situation...

no tweaking or freaking out.

It didn't matter.

No one seemed to care, 

and the production went off without a hitch...

so refreshing.

Shakespeare with a chill pill.

And after the play came this quote,  "You can go now.  I'll meet you at home."

Full teen.

Tonight, I am grateful to the Davis Shakespeare Ensemble.

I'm grateful to this group of actors, directors and musicians who share their passion and work to make Shakespeare come alive.

Grateful for their hard work and ability to engage with teens of all sorts.

I'm grateful to live in a town that is accepting and tolerant and inclusive.

I'm grateful to an 8th grade teacher who taught Shakespeare to an entire group of middle schoolers, never dumbing it down or diluting it, thrilling them with the action and the language...

and lighting a fire.

Most especially, I am grateful to the Bard of Avon...

the witty, the insightful, the tragic and comic Shakespeare...

who has touched the heart and soul of my son hundreds of years later.

There's no doubt that Shakespeare has shaped my son...who would have guessed?

Sixty Years Later...

God, I love this man...who uses intercourse and injustice in the same quote and rocks it like no other? MLK.

Here's a trick question:

Do you know what Supreme Court decision was remembered yesterday?

Have you ever heard of Brown vs. The Board of Education?

1954 is when it all went down.

Sixty years later we are still talking about it and yes, still celebrating the decision.

Sixty years ago segregation got the boot.

Sixty years ago.

Sixty years ago a grandson of a slave, Thurgood Marshall, stood in front of the United States Supreme Court and argued against allowing segregation in schools to continue.

The Supreme Court unanimously agreed.

--> SEPARATE BUT EQUAL HAS NO PLACE! <--

Do you hear that?? It has no place.

Sorry to yell but this is something that educators are still talking about.

And I wanna know why.

Sixty.freaking.years.

Today, of course, thanks to Thurgood, it is taboo to suggest that a child of color should be removed to a separate learning area just because of the color of his skin.

But that doesn't stop the system from having an overabundance of children of color identified as needing special education services and then removing them from the classroom that way.

Segregation is alive and well and yes, educators, very well-intentioned ones, try to use the whole separate but equal idea in a subtle way.

They say things like:

Your child will receive special services in the separate classroom.

We can meet your child's needs better in a smaller classroom.

The "educational gap" is too big and your child needs to go to a different classroom.

It's all crap.

SIXTY years ago it was decided.

We all get to learn alongside each other.

Everyone.

In the same classroom.

I sure wish schools would get the memo.

No special room.

No special class.

Nothing special...just the regular class.

That's all we want.

All our kids need.

We have thirty years of educational research that support the sixty year old decision.

We know what works.

Separate classrooms don't.

Engagement, technology, teaching with supports, visual aids, music, clear, specific feedback

these are the things that matter.

It really isn't hard.

We just need access.

Sadly, people with intellectual disabilities get denied access to their neighborhood classrooms all the time. 

Still, 60 years later.

So I'm writing this as a message in a bottle.

Thurgood went to battle.

He had the strength of the Constitution and common sense on his side.

He won -- unanimously -- 60 years ago.

If he can win,

so can we.

Fight the system.

Demand to have your child placed alongside his typical peers.

Don't back down.

Share the stories of success.

Follow the ripple of inclusion.

Watch your child grow and thrive.

If he doesn't.

Don't give up.

Tweak and adjust.

Believe.

It can happen. Successfully.

The Supreme Court is on our side.

Federal Law is on our side.

We are on the side of love, acceptance, tolerance and inclusion.

That's the side that matters.

Be their voice.

Speak truth to power.

Watch with wonder as miracles happen.

That's the grace-in-the-ordinary...it's right in front of us.

Thanks to Thurgood.

Why It Matters

When Patrick was in kindergarten we needed some sort of incentive that he was willing to work for.

  We needed a pay out.  

Since I didn't want an obese child, the pay out couldn't be candy.  

Who am I kidding, Patrick is not candy focused, he's all about the carb.  

He, for sure, would have worked for a fresh baguette every day but I just couldn't do that.  

So we brainstormed and perseverated and finally landed on the library.  

Patrick and I could go to the library every day after school if he had a happy face day.

Oh, those happy face days!  

That meant that Patrick had listened, worked hard and kept it together.  

It also meant that he came in from recess on his own -- a true trial for Patrick -- 

since he couldn't distinguish when his time was up. 

If he saw anyone on the playground, he thought it was his time to play too.

At first, going to the library was a big deal.  

We celebrated!  

We cheered.

We did the happy dance.

And then we waltzed right in and Patrick spent a delicious amount of time 

l-i-n-g-e-r-i-n-g

over the videos and DVD's,

like a guy named Patrick at a bakery filled with croissants and baguettes and other sourdough options.

He relished the moment.

He perused and paused and savored so many choices.

The library was his spot.

Like all favorite memories, the library still makes him happy but it's no longer something he works for.

His happy face days are the norm now.

The library is just a pit stop on our way to the park...or a place to go to directly if there's research for a school project involved.

And so yesterday I casually suggested that we go to the library while Caroline had basketball practice.

Since he is still known for his slow pace of perusal, I was a bit worried we might be cutting it too close.

But we gave it a try.

Like a salmon finding its place to spawn, without thought, he honed himself straight into the kids' section and started the monumental task of choosing a video.

It only took about 5 minutes and we were done.

He had nothing.

"So, what do you think?" I asked.

"I need the computer." he replied.

so causal...so big

He gets on the computer and types in his item: Macbeth.

He finds all sorts of options but zeroes in on a Macbeth video in the adult section...we repeat the call numbers to ourselves over and over as we cross through the library.

We find the Shakespeare section and attempt to locate the video.

Nothing.

My mind: tick tock, tick tock

I suggest that we can put in a request for it and he agrees.

We walk right up and talk to the librarian who happens to be a young guy -- 

note to self: when did that happen??

He says it should be on the shelf...he meanders over to the section with us, finds it for us  

(library newbs) and Patrick is smiling...fired up...for Macbeth???

We don't have time that night to watch the show.

So I wake up to my husband leaving for work and telling me, 

"Yeah, Patrick is fully dressed and watching Macbeth."

Weird.

I come out a half hour later to check on Patrick and he's engrossed...

full middle English +Shakespearean drama + early morning = confused momma.  

I shake my head and keep my morning pace.

He comes out for breakfast asking questions.

"Who killed Macbeth?"

My mind needs simple gimme questions like, "Where's the toast?"

I do what all motley, sleepy, busy parents do...I tell him to Google it.

He does.

Fascinated he tells me that Macduff kills Macbeth -- 

because Macbeth had killed Macduff's wife and son.

I start to get interested.

I can't help it...

this whole weirdness is also super cool.

It starts to break through my early-morning mind fog: my kid is curious about Shakespeare?!?

I tell him that Macduff got revenge on Macbeth.  I ask him if he knows what that means.

He pauses and lets me continue...Macbeth gets killed because he killed other people...he had it coming.

He understands...and he reveals others that Macbeth has killed, Duncan and one other whose name I can't understand.

But here's what I do understand.

Talking to my 14 year old son about the plot of Macbeth in the early morning time before school was an unanticipated miracle.

My son has Down Syndrome.

The statistic most often given is that women who find out they are carrying a baby with Down Syndrome abort that baby 90% of the time.

I like to think that number is a little high...but if it's 75% or 50% it really doesn't matter.

Women are terminating their wanted pregnancies because of fear.

Because they don't think they will be talking Shakespeare to that child, ever.

Because they can't imagine someone with Down Syndrome being clever or funny or 

independent 

with dreams of their own.

Because all they know is mis-information.

My son is no "gifted and talented" child with Down Syndrome, trust me.  

But here's what he has had...access to the curriculum.

He's been fully included alongside his typical peers and exposed to rich literature, big ideas like 

social justice and freedom.  He's been in on class discussions and wrestled with morality.  

He's learned about the arts, history, science and math...just like any other kid at his school.

Once in awhile, his curiosity gets the better of him and he gets sucked in.

It happened when he had to do a big project about New York City in 5th grade.

It happened when he pretended to attend Apple Valley (a school set 150 years ago) in 3rd grade.

It happened with the Terra Cotta Warriors and with 6th grade science camp and music.

And now it's happened again with Shakespeare.

The problem with limited curriculum for people with cognitive disabilities is that we limit the menu.

I don't know if Patrick will become a vegetarian, passionate about mangoes or obsessed with granola.

Who am I to decide??

He gets introduced to new foods all the time...that's part of living.

It's the same in school.

People like Patrick deserve to have the same menu as anybody else.

We can't know what will intrigue or light the fire of anyone's mind -- people like Patrick most of all.

If you would have asked me if Patrick would love Macbeth, I would have guessed no.

I would have guessed wrong.

People like Patrick love learning; they light up with excitement when they figure it out.

Just like anybody else.

People like Patrick deserve more opportunities and more depth and more enrichment in school.

Why??

Because we can never guess or know what will touch their hearts and speak to their soul.

Their individual passion and interest is unpredictable and incongruous.

Just like every human on the planet.

So, yes, it matters if people like Patrick get to learn alongside their typical classmates.

Yes, it matters if opportunities are limited.

If the curriculum is watered down and dull.

No mind should be wasted.

Nobody should be denied.

We should all get the chance to hate Shakespeare...or in Patrick's case, love it.

It matters.

Building A Door

"If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door." -- Milton Berle

Last Saturday night I had a dream come true. 

It isn't often that something that you have been thinking about for years and creating in your mind takes place, but last Saturday night that's what happened.  We had a Dinner Under the Stars in our backyard.  We set out tables of eight and put on white table cloths. We had someone fill vases of flowers with gerbera daisies and sunflowers.  We had a chef create delicious treats and we paused our busy lives and said thanks.

The universe seemed to be in on the action too.  The weather cooperated with a lovely cool night.  The sunset went down with its typical, breath-taking beauty.  The stars came out and danced and decorated the night sky.  

Last Saturday night, I had the joy to formally thank, out loud and in person, two people who helped build a door, 

Father Dan Looney and Mary Kay Bolz.

Do you know why it's blurry?  My hand was shaking...that's what happens when a dream is coming true!

When Patrick was born, one of the very first things that broke my heart was the idea that he wouldn't be able to be a part of Jack and Mary Kate's world at school.  I thought that because he had Down Syndrome he would be automatically excluded from attending the Catholic school that was such a huge part of our lives.  I felt the feeling of isolation and exclusion almost immediately and I cried for Patrick.  I cried for Jack and Mary Kate and I cried for all the others who had been excluded before us.  I could feel the deep sadness of being an outsider and wanted an opportunity to belong.

When Patrick was just days old, we attended mass.  We were reeling from the news that Patrick not only had Down Syndrome but that he would need open heart surgery within just a few weeks.  We were scared and sad.  We tried to go through the motions of our old life but we knew that it was just that...we had crossed a bridge and our life would be forever different.

Guess who met us outside of church?  Guess who held tiny baby Patrick...held him close, looked into his eyes...saw his beauty and acknowledged it?  Guess who gave him a blessing -- simple and from the heart -- right there outside of mass on a sunny, hot July day?  Yes, that dear man in the picture above, Father Dan.  I remember hot tears in my eyes and the beauty of acceptance. I am forever grateful...and let's not even talk about John's love and appreciation of that moment.  I know for him that was a salve and a healing that will be with him forever.

As Patrick grew, the feeling of being excluded from school led me to search online in the hope that maybe others had been included in their local Catholic schools.
Turns out, they had.
I linked up with nationwide groups like the Network of Inclusive Catholic Educators.  I found out about FIRE and REACH and a whole host of other small groups working toward including people with disabilities in the classrooms and in the religious education classes of Catholic churches all over the United States.  There are pockets of inclusion in Sioux Falls, South Dakota; Miami, Florida; Phoenix, Arizona; Minneapolis, Minnesota; Kansas City, Missouri; Charleston, South Carolina and Los Angeles, California.

It was happening all over the country.

So, Father Dan, the pastor of St. James parish, and Mary Kay Bolz, the principal of St. James School,  took a leap of faith.  Together they allowed Patrick the opportunity of becoming a student at St. James.  When I asked Mary Kay if she wanted me to write a note to the parents of the kindergarten class about Patrick I will never forget her words: "No, Beth, that's not necessary.  You see, I want them to come talk to me.  I want them to look me in the eye and tell me how Patrick being in that class will be a problem for their child.  Bring it on."

Turns out that no one ever felt the need to approach Mary Kay.  The parents in Patrick's class have been nothing but supportive, encouraging and welcoming, always.
The Dinner Under the Stars was for them too.

And for the teachers.  God bless the teachers...the ones who actually had to navigate the uncharted territory of full inclusion.  The ones who had to deal with the everyday glitches.  The ones who had to make the phone call and troubleshoot. And it was for Bev, our school secretary, who has been in on more than her fair share of various forms of Patrick illness and Patrick's lovely sense of time and slowing down the journey.  I don't want to total up the number of tardies she has written for my son...but it's plenty.

But the Dinner Under the Stars was also for other parents of children with disabilities.  It was for other teachers at other schools, other administrators and other angels who believe in this mission even if they have nothing to personally gain from it.  They are the cheerleaders and the encouragers.  It was for them too.  It was a chance to look over the road we have travelled and a chance to see the road ahead of us.

The door has been opened for Patrick but that's not the end of the story.  There are other doors to be built.  Other doors to open and other people waiting to cross through the threshold.  It's up to us to widen the entrance.  It's up to us to hold out our hands and welcome them.  It's up to us to let them know that inclusion may be scary and uncomfortable but it is never pointless.  It is never a waste of time to include those on the fringes....isn't that whole point of being Catholic?

So, while I got to stop and say thanks to two amazing trailblazers, we aren't by any means done.  We have many, many more families to include and welcome and plenty of students who wish for the same opportunity.  It's up to us to point the way and keep walking the path.

 And, to the many whose shoulders I have stood on in this journey who could not be at the Dinner Under the Stars, please know you were in my heart.  Angie Quissell, Kevin Baxter, Lilly Rangel Diaz, Cindy May, Dave Perry and countless others -- you were there.  You were sparkling and shining.  You were a part of something that I hope keeps growing and thriving and becomes a full-on paradigm shift within Catholic education.
Keep shining.  Keep building doors.  Keep at it.
We're not done.