I’m actually having trouble with my internal dialogue this time (those conversations that I have with myself in my head).
The lesson presented to me has my head spinning.
My children and I went to the pool (indoor city pool – we just got 1 year memberships – Woo Hoo!). Anyway — Miss E was entertaining herself by going down the big water slide over and over and over and over again. 
She would do a “check” every now and then to see if I was watching — which I was.
Mr. E and I were on the other side of the pool. He has a bit of a water phobia — well, I guess it’s a drowning phobia. He and I were both excited for him when he actually tried and succeeded in swimming today. It was incredibly exciting. And, the proud look on his face was priceless. After a little while, though, he wanted to try out one of the city-provided life jackets. He loved it and started cruising around the pool.
At one point, while Mr. E and I were playing (and, watching Miss E go down the slide), I noticed a little boy in the water having a heck of a time trying to put on a life vest. Being me, I immediately asked him if he wanted some help (without checking for his mom, etc.). He didn’t respond to me, so I took that to mean that he was ignoring me and wanted to do it himself. I turned back to Mr. E. After a few moments, I looked back at the boy. He was still struggling with his life vest. I noticed at this time, too, that he had a life vest that was much too small for him. Once again, I asked the boy if he wanted some help. This time he kinda nodded at me. I tried to put the vest on, but it was just much too small. I explained to him that he needed to go back to the bin where the life vests are kept and get a bigger one. He nodded. I smiled and turned back to Mr. E. After a bit, I turned back to the boy. He was still standing there in the water, looking around. I went back over to him and pointed out where the bin of life vests was. He just stood there. (During this time, too, I was watching for the adult that must be with him and wondering why they were not helping him). I got out of the pool with him; asked Mr. E to please wait for me on the steps; and walked the little boy over to the bin of life vests. I was beginning to realize that this little boy was not processing the things around him the same way that I do. While helping him get a correct-sized life vest and put it on, I asked him if he was there with his mommy (surely someone must be stressing out about this boy being out of the water and walking around with a stranger). He said he was not with his mother. Upon further questioning, he told me that he was not with his mother or father or any adult that he knew of; but, that his mother and father had driven him to the pool (and, he was 5 years old).
I walked him back to the pool and Mr. E. The little boy stayed right next to me. If Mr. E and I didn’t “interact” with him, then he just stood there, looking lost. I tried harder to find out who he was with, but he just couldn’t tell me. Eventually (I know, my story is already long enough), I asked the life guard if there was some sort of camp or class at the pool today and where the instructor might be because there was a “confused” little boy in the water. (I was having some internal struggles at this point as I attempted to explain why this boy needed some attention — the words “slow,” “retarded,” “autistic,” etc. floated through my head. I DO NOT like those words. I don’t like labels in general, but some I find particularly offensive. How odd that I couldn’t find the words to accurately reflect the different mental processes of this sweet little boy). The life guard eventually called over her supervisor with whom I became very frustrated as no one seemed to understand my concern. Eventually, I blurted out, “I just want to find the adult is who is responsible for this boy so they can come over and be responsible for him!!!” She tried talking to the boy and obtained no more information from him than I did, except for the fact that his name was Andrew. Eventually, some other little kids swam up and said that he was in their group and pointed out their camp counselor (sitting on the benches, texting on her phone — not watching the pool AT ALL!!).
Fine. Apparently all the adults currently present in this little boy’s life thought it was appropriate to just dump him off at a swimming pool, shuffle him off in the direction of the life vest bin with all the other kids, and leave him. Mr. E & I stayed with Andrew. We played with Andrew. Instead of standing there alone, looking lost, he laughed and smiled and had me spin him around and around in the water. There were times that he would pull away from me and stand and look around for awhile. Then, he would reach out for me — I’d be right there. He didn’t necessarily need someone to ”help” him, but he did need someone to be there with him/for him and to interact with him — in my opinion, anyway– rather than leaving him to stand in the pool looking sad and lost (& his life vest only half on).
Just a note: Andrew’s “camp counselor” only looked up once and that was when I walked up to her to tell her that Andrew needed to use the bathroom. She got up; took him toward the restrooms and then sat back down. She only went to get him and bring him back to the pool when she saw me glaring at her.
Miss E came up a few times and played with Andrew, too. Neither of my children seemed to mind that my attention was focused on Andrew, not them. After some time, another young boy came up to me asking if I was Andrew’s mother. I told him, “No, we’ve just become friends here today.” He started talking all about “stranger danger.” I talked with this new little boy about it; about how he was right; how I was just helping Andrew; etc. This little boy, Louis, stayed with us the rest of the time we were there. He never once stopped talking. He told outlandish tales: “Our cat is going to have kittens, then we’re going to put her in a box and drown her, my cat is already dead.” As I listened to his stories and responded to what he said, he became visibly surprised — apparently because I was actually listening and questioning what he was telling me. In the end, he laughed and the “truth” of each story came out. He never *once* stopped staring at my face, talking to me, making sure that I was still actually paying attention to him. This was a bit of challenge as I was still trying to stay available for Andrew and Mr. E (and, keep an eye on Miss E who was still going down the water slide over and over and over again — and, checking to see if we were watching).
(One exchange with Louis really made me chuckle. There was a little girl sitting on the side of the pool making faces at him. He kept pointing her out.
Louis: “She’s calling me a loser.”
Me: “Are you a loser?”
Louis: “No.”
Me: “Then does it really matter what she says?”
Louis: “I know. I know. ‘What you say is what you are.’”
Me: “No, what you think about yourself is what you are.”
Louis: “Oh” and then silence — the only time he was quiet. )
Eventually, we had to leave and I left Andrew in the care of Louis – who promised me that he would stay with Andrew and play with him.
As we were walking out to the car, I apologized to Mr. E and Miss E for not being able to play with them as much as I usually do, and to thank them for playing with Andrew with me — he had needed us and I was glad we could help him. They asked me why he needed us. I struggled to explain how his brain just works in a slightly different way than ours. Miss E thought it sounded cool how his brain worked. Mr. E thought Andrew was a lot of fun and started making plans of things he’d like to do with Andrew the next time we see him.
For them, it was simple. Andrew was just another little boy. He wasn’t different in their minds at all. Words like “slow,” “special needs,” “retarded,” “autistic,” “aspergers,” etc. didn’t come into their heads.
As I let the events of the day roll around in my head — incubate, as I call it — I realized that every single child I interacted with today had “special needs” of one sort or another. Miss E had the special need to check to make sure I was watching her go down the water slide. Mr. E had the special need to have the security of a life vest even after he had acquired his new swimming skills. Andrew just needed someone near — to be there for him, to assist him with the ”maintenance” parts of the day, and to actively interact with him. And, Louis, dear sweet Louis — his ”special needs” seemed to be the greatest of all. He needed someone to actually listen to him.
My children taught me an incredibly profound lesson today.
We ALL have “special needs” of one kind or another — which, in the big scheme of things, ties us all together and makes us not so different after all.
The depth of this lesson is still sinking in for me, and as it does, the immensity of it almost overwhelms me.
But, for my children – it was simple.
I truly hope to be as wise as they are some day.
