Delays of the Heartwarming Kind

This has been a very family-oriented week.

On Wednesday, my younger little man had educational testing to see how much of a smarty-pants he is. The testing took less time than research, assimilating the results, mild panic, and trying to make some decisions about what to do next year.

Yesterday was much less complicated, and much more enjoyable. Our bodies were frozen but our hearts were warm as my mother-in-law, younger son and I ventured out to cheer on my older son as he competed in the Soccer Skills event in our county's Special Olympics.

He is 9 years old, and very autistic. He loves to look at books and memorizes his favorite parts, although he cannot actually read. Some of his favorites are "Where the Wild Things Are", "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Will You Wear". Over the years we've owned 20+ copies of each, because he devours them. Literally and figuratively.

He loves running around and kicking things, so soccer skills was a good choice by the caring and dedicated staff at his school. It was so fun to watch him gleefully attacking the ball and running into the net with it, probably fascinated by what it looks like as it rolls, his nose red and running a little in the unseasonably cold Florida air and his arms raised victoriously in the air. At one point he was so enthusiastic that he tried to knock over the goals, like European fans after a match. Being Special Olympics, everybody smiled; nobody was horrified by this terrible behavior (which really wasn't so terrible at all).

The other kids waiting to take their turns sprawled out on the grass, huddled in their jackets against the wind, or talked with their friends. They clapped when their teachers clapped. When the hosting high school marching band played music, there was lots of dancing. A good time was had by all, and, in spite of my mother-in-law's prediction, no one actually got frostbite in the 50 degree weather.

I don't know yet whether my little big man earned a medal or not, but medals aren't really the point of Special Olympics at the end of the day. We left a little early so that nobody would catch consumption or need hot water bottles and cod liver oil treatments.

My younger son (aged 6) was surprised to learn that there were that many kids who are special like his brother. We've told him and explained, but seeing is believing. I always like meeting the parents of my son's classmates and having the funny conversations that might be unique to autism: trading strange behavior stories, comparing food lists, meltdown locations. It's also fun to hang out with the teachers in a low-stress setting when they're having fun with the kids.

The end result is I have a nice warm glow in my heart. Autism isn't always a bowl of cherries, but on Special Olympics day, I'm reminded that it's definitely not the pits.