Special Olympics

A few weeks ago, when I was dropping Aaron off for his weekly therapy, his therapist gave me a paper.  I glanced down at it and saw that it was for flag football--through Special Olympics.  She told me her good friend was the coach, and that she thought it would be such a great thing for Aaron to do.  Then she took Aaron back for his therapy session, and I headed out to the car to head home.  I climbed in the car, and looked down at the paper.  Special Olympics.  I stared at those two words, and tears started freely flowing.  So many emotions rushed forward.  This isn't how it's supposed to be.  Aaron isn't supposed to be in Special Olympics.  I'm not supposed to have a special needs child.  This just isn't fair.  When Aaron was little, he was so big for his age, and everyone would comment, "He's going to be a football player" "He'll pay his way through college playing football".  He was supposed to be a natural athlete.  Special Olympics.  I sat and cried. 

When I was in college, I had to take a class titled "Human Exceptionality".  It was on teaching kids with special needs.  It was one of the few college textbooks that I didn't sell back at the end of the semester.  It was a $100 book, and I needed the money, but there was something inside of me that urged me to keep it.  It wasn't because I wanted to have it around to re read.  It was more a deep fear that told me I needed to keep it.  It scared me.  I was more than happy to apply it's teachings to students I might have in a classroom someday.  But there was a dark fear that whispered to me that I would need that knowledge someday as a mother.  I've never admitted that till now.  Special needs aren't something to fear or dread, but I did.  It terrified me, the thought of having a special needs child of my own. 

And then I had Aaron.  Honestly, I don't know how I made it through before he was diagnosed.  He was so hard, and so frustrating, and I blamed myself for not being able to teach him to behave.  I was so relieved when he was diagnosed, and so terrified.  I know that his problems are so small compared to what most special needs parents go through.  I think Heavenly Father needed to give me this experience, but knew he needed to go lightly on me.  In the broad spectrum of things that can go wrong in a child, we got off pretty lucky.  But that doesn't mean that it's easy.  And it doesn't mean that I always see the blessings in this experience.

And so I sat and stared down at this Special Olympics form, and I thought of how unfair it was that this was what our life now entails.  And then I wiped up my tears and drove home.  I showed the form to Scott later that night, and again I cried.  I cried again days later when I told a friend about it. 

And then we went to the first practice, and I cried again.  But somehow along the way, my tears had shifted from self pity, to tears of gratitude.  Gratitude that they provided this great program for my son.  Gratitude that Aaron was out on the field smiling and playing and having fun.  Gratitude that so many people have been sent into our lives to help Aaron--teachers, therapists, coaches, friends.  We are indeed blessed. 

As we looked into registering Aaron, we learned that this specific program was looking for athletes with mental disabilities, and traditional athletes (without mental disabilities) to play along side them and help them.  We talked to Josh and asked him if he would be interested in helping out and playing.  He said he would love to.  So he and Aaron are playing together.  Josh loves football, but hates the pressure of competition.  He is excited to be able to help other kids (like Aaron) learn to love football and play to have fun. 

Nate and Kate came along to watch the practice.  As we got in the truck to go home, Scott suggested that our football boys needed a treat to celebrate a successful practice.  I suggested we go home and get the other three kids to come with us.  So we went by home and got the rest of the kids, and then we all went to Aspen Leaf and enjoyed ice cream together.