Preparations...

The kids were playing in one of those gross play areas in Burger King.

They were playing Tag with some other kids and seemed to be having fun, until S suddenly moved away from the little girl she was playing with and sat by herself in a corner.

I didn't know why, until....

the little girl's brother quickly piped in, "That's her lucky hand!  She can do everything with it.  She can tie her shoes, and even do the monkey bars".

And then all of the kids  came over to take a look.

Except S, who ran down to K and I, to whisper to us, "That girl has a really little hand!  It kinda scares me!"  And we talked about how she shouldn't tell the girl that, because that would hurt her feelings.  (Apparently, she already had, as you'll read later.)  Maybe, she could just respond by saying, "That's okay if your hand is a little different.  Let's go play."  

At the same time, the girl didn't want to play anymore, because she "was hot".

By this time, I was literally teary.  Because I didn't want my kids to be those kids.  The kids that are completely un-accepting of others' differences.  And because I just heard Z say, nonchalantly, "It looks kinda like an alien to me..."

And so...

I called him down, and we talked about how that the word, "alien", is NEVER okay to say to anyone about the way they look.  We talked about how all people are different, and none of us look the same.

While I honestly don't think he meant to hurt the girl's feelings, (I mean, aliens are cool, right!?) he does not often think before he talks (I understand that....that very trait comes from me).

Z sat for a second, thinking, then went back up to ask the girl to play.

S sat a little longer, and had lots of questions about why kids' hands would look like that, so we talked (shortly) about how some kids' development is effected before they are even born, and we reminded her about the "bump" she used to have on her head and how that was different too, but that different is okay.  And not scary.

And we encouraged her to ask the girl, again, to play.

She went back into the play area.

But she wasn't playing with the girl.  She was sitting a little ways away.  Head down.  Gloomy.

And when she finally came down the slide, she burst into tears, sobbing loudly, and saying, "I feel bad because I told her that her hand SCARED me!" to which K replied, "Yeah.  Don't do that."

So she cried harder, and sobbed, "I'm SORRY!  I'm sorry....(sob, sob, snort)."

(And then she cried again in the van.  And again when we finally got home.)

And while I am not proud for not having prepared my kids to respond to that little girl's differences, I am proud of both of them for:

1). Going back and playing when I encouraged him to (Z)

and 2). Feeling SO SO bad for realizing that she hurt someone's feelings (S).

I said, "Ya know, S.  I know you will do things differently next time, and I am proud of you for realizing you hurt her feelings and for feeling so bad about it.  That makes me know how much you really care about people and about how they feel."

And then there were many more questions about why kids would WANT to hurt others' feelings.   "And why would kids tease her at school, because her brother said some kids are mean to her?"

I wondered, right then,  if you ever get over feeling, as a parent of a "different child", like you want to beat the crap out of every kid that looks at your kid the wrong way.

And I know my kids were the ones that were looking at her the wrong way this time, but we plan to prepare them to respond differently (gracefully) next time.

That's all we can do as parent, right?  Learn from the past and prepare for the future?

Super Boy

I am a little bit of a spoiled brat, maybe, and I often wonder why we don't see more miracles in our lives.  Why doesn't God show Himself to us?  Why were there a bunch of miracles in the Bible, but we see "none" of them today?

And then...

I recently brought Z to a mandatory neuropsychology assessment.  Because of the massive brain hemorrhage (and therefore shunt placement) he endured in neonatal, Z is evaluated every three years, to assure he is reaching developmental milestones.

Last time I brought him in, the neuropsychologist said to me, "THIS is not the boy I expected to see.  According to his charts, he has had quite a significant brain bleed....and I know he has cerebral palsy."
I wasn't sure what he meant, but he told me later, he was surprised at how well Z was doing.
The doctor was glad for his development, but Z did have some minor deficits then, mostly in fine motor skills and some processing tasks.  He was processing alot of things on only one side of his brain.  I wasn't worried.  I didn't really see any ways that those things limited him in any way, so I mostly blew it off.

THIS time, after his SEVEN HOUR appointment, the doctor said, "You have an amazing boy here.  His processing is even on both sides of his brain (which is good), the deficits I noted last time are no longer, and he is keeping up with his peers."

"All good things," I thought, "but not surprising."  (Of COURSE he was doing well!  Why wouldn't he be!?)

E'hem.

And the doctor went on to say, "I did not expect this from him.  Most kids with the level of brain damage he has endured are able to keep up with their peers for the first years of life.  They develop at a similar level (running his finger in the air at a slow, steady incline).  However, when their peers begin school, kids like Z develop on the same developmental path as they have been (slow incline), while their peers' progress more quickly and on a steeper incline.  I am astounded to let you know that Z is keeping right up with his peers.  He is an amazing young man.  I am glad to have worked with him."

"Amazing," he said again.

And I tried not to get all teary and emotional.  Because I am raising a kid whose development is unexpected.  Is atypical.  Is....can we say...a miracle?

And I didn't even know.

Or I forgot to look.

So I left thankful.  Wondering how many other miracles we miss every day.

(And knowing that I will forget and be ungrateful probably by the time I got home.)