(Editor’s Note: Back in the 1990s, I wrote a weekly column for a newspaper in northern Indiana. The column was called, “Consider This.” I recently ran across a few dozen of these old columns. It’s been both entertaining and a little painful sifting through those naïve and frequently unpolished musings. Nevertheless, I thought it might be fun to share some of them via this blog over the next several Mondays. Consider this a sort of throwback Thursday, or a flashback Friday, but on a Monday. Thanks in advance for reading!)
They were wearing the same pair of shoes.
I was on my way back from an interview and the one thought that kept going through my mind was that they were wearing the same shoes.
The preceding realization can’t be understood unless I also tell you about a trip I made last week to the city of Fort Wayne to interview a couple of people for the Allen County Edition of Senior Life. After an afternoon of work, I stopped by my brother’s home and visited with his family.
My nephew and godson, Billy, an energetic and always enthusiastic 5-year-old, showed me his latest artistic endeavors that had made their way to the coveted door of the refrigerator. He invited me to play games and while I was engaged in “adult” conversation with my brother and sister-in-law, Billy vied for my attention, sitting on my lap and grabbing my hand.
As Billy started to cry and complain a little bit later in the evening, my sister-in-law commented, “See what happens when my son doesn’t take a nap!” She ordered pizza for dinner and when those cheese and pepperoni pies arrived, Billy sat quietly, carefully eating the slices that he would first dip into an accompanying side of tomato sauce.
While Billy was seated eating, I observed how content he seemed. I remarked to my brother and sister-in-law that I thought his outfit was really cute. Billy rolled his eyes at the word “cute” and refocused my attention to his tennis shoes. I didn’t understand his first reference to the shoes and asked Billy if he needed a new pair. “No way! I like these,” he replied simply, pointing to the shoes. They were white, with black and bluish-purple accents around the ankles.
Billy pleaded with me to spend the night, but I declined, explaining that I had to be at work early the next morning and I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me. I said good-bye.
The following afternoon I made my way to the home of Terry and Jeane DeShone. I was going to speak with Jeane concerning her experience with ADEC…Resources for Independence, more specifically its First Steps program.
A strong and humorous woman, Jeane shared her personal story of how she learned of ADEC’s early intervention services for children at risk of developmental delay.
Paul, her almost 5-year-old, was found to be at risk of delay when 10 months old. She told me about how much the staff and services at ADEC meant in the life of Paul and in the lives of the rest of her family. Paul was eventually diagnosed with autism.
We spoke for a little more than a half hour before Terry brought Paul home from preschool.
I looked forward to this meeting with great anticipation, especially after what I viewed as such an honest and sensitive discussion with Jeane.
When Paul entered the room, one of the first things that caught my eye was that he was wearing the same shoes my nephew, Billy, was wearing the day before. Initially, I tried to shake off what I thought was a pretty silly observation, but later I couldn’t put it out of my mind.
As Paul made his way around the room, he appeared unhappy about something. His mother placed a few treats on the table near where we were seated and he sat there quietly, carefully eating these treats, one by one. And I thought to myself how cute his outfit was.
We continued with our “adult” conversation. Jeane told me about how she learned to concentrate on what Paul has to give and not about what has been taken from him. She said that she has the first picture he ever drew by himself hanging on the refrigerator. “It’s just three marks, but we were delighted when he accomplished that,” Jeane said.
As we neared the end of our discussion, Paul grabbed my hand, vying for my attention.
On my way back to the office, I considered all of these parallels in my two visits. I thought how right Jeane was when she said that disabilities are a matter of time for all of us. That we are all closer to disabilities than we might think was powerfully illustrated to me.
I was overcome, however, by the realization that Paul and Billy are very much alike. There’s such a similarity there. I thought about how much I loved the fact that they both approach life with such enthusiasm and energy.
I thought that perhaps we don’t realize our similarities – what we have in common – all that often. We seem to be forever emphasizing our differences. But the bottom line seemed to be that we all want the same things. We all vie for attention, want to be accepted or who we are and recognized for our achievements, no matter how great or small.
I thought that we all have this desire to be loved and we all want to enjoy our lives.
After all that Jeane had shared with me when I saw Paul for the first time, I didn’t see his autism. I saw a little boy…a little boy with energy and enthusiasm…a little boy who liked candy…a little boy whose accomplishments were hanging on the refrigerator door…a little boy who could have been my nephew…a little boy wearing the same pair of shoes.
Life After Ted 