The Child is Teacher of the Man.

I survived my first weekend of scaled-back blogging just fine. What has it been - 4 days now without a post? I wrote a very brief post for the Methoblog but, otherwise, I resisted the temptation to write about a variety of more or less useless subjects. And the world still turns...

As a result, I accomplished several things this weekend - I did some offline reading and some exercising (both which I need to do more often). I also read some good blog posts.

I read with glee my wife's "yeah right" Christmas list. It's lovely that she wants to buy me an Rx-8 but unless she's got 30 grand stashed away someplace I don't know about, I think the car under the tree will look much more like this one.

Another post I liked, from Susan as Herself, is a wonderful and well written story about a homeless man accosting a woman at the bus stop. Susan tried to help the woman and ended up helping them both. This story almost made me cry...

Sorry, no punch line. Really, I really felt like crying.

With that story fresh in my mind, I prepared to attend the 50th annual Tullahoma Christmas parade on Friday evening. Stacie had to attend a reception for the parade VIP's on behalf of her employer beforehand so the kids and I met her after work and tagged along. The reception was held in an historic local house for parade volunteers, organizers and special guests.

For reasons that are unknown to me, some "special needs" folks were also in attendance. They came in and milled around before the VIP's arrived and it soon became obviously apparent that "they" had not been expected. They sure enjoyed the food though. Stacie overheard one guy say, "We never get to pig out like this!" Tiny sandwiches and dainty cookies is "pigging out"? For these folks, yes, it is. There was some concern among the powers that be that the food and drink would be gone before the important people arrived. Yeah, I know, priorities.

About this time, one of the special needs folks, a young adult gentleman whom I had never met, approached me, extended his hand in greeting and said (I think) "Merry Christmas". Before I could reciprocate, he took a step forward and bear-hugged me. Some of the important people started to laugh while others abruptly walked to the other side of the room. (So as not to 'catch' whatever affliction he had, I suppose) But what the heck, I figure the guy needed a hug and I probably did too so I hugged back, slapped him on the shoulder and said, "Merry Christmas".

I felt like leaving at this point but Stacie had to stay for a while and my son needed 'to go' in a different way. After we found the bathroom, jeans clad Tad and I proceeded to hang out in the adjoining hallway while the fancy and important people ate their tiny sandwiches and discussed "portfolio diversification" in the reception room.

That's when Tad and I encountered another, younger, fellow from the special needs group. This kid was totally in a world of his own. I'm not sure what his affliction is - Down syndrome perhaps - but it appeared to be very severe. He sat alone and motionless in the darkened hallway while the festivities were going on in the next room. He stared intently at an orange and white toy pom-pom. It was one of those little football fan pom-poms with the long handle. Occasionally, he would violently shake the pom-pom as if to kill the thing, then go back to staring.

I observed him as casually as I could and I noticed my son warily observing this boy as well. Finally, after several rounds of pom-pom shaking, the young man looked up at the ceiling and said something very loudly but completely indecipherable. This surprised Tad and he jumped a bit but it was also like a light bulb went on above his head. He had been studying this young man, trying to understand what his 'deal' was. Why did he not talk to us or even glance our way? What was his fascination with the pom-pom? Once Tad heard the boy 'speak', though, he seemed to suddenly understand. Tad also suddenly felt the need to engage this fellow in some way. He moved a bit closer and began to talk to him the way kids sometimes do, "Hey, what's your name?", "I like that pom-pom.", "You like UT?" and so on. The young man only looked at Tad vacantly once or twice. Tad didn't relent though, continuing to talk to him about the pom-pom, football, toys, the wassail he had tried, you name it, only occasionally looking over at me with a shrug when the boy did not respond.

In fact, Tad received virtually no reply from his new friend and what reply he did receive neither he nor I could begin to understand. I doubt that it made a bit of difference in the world to the other boy. I'm not even sure he realized we were there. But Tad was trying to do good. He was trying do the right thing. He was living out what Jesus, Stacie and I (but mainly Jesus and Stacie) have tried to teach him: to treat others with respect no matter who or what they are. Maybe it is just his young age and innocence, perhaps he will grow out of it and become a cynical and jaded adult like so many of us are. I hope not because this eight year old boy I call my favorite son displayed more class and dignity, showed more love and grace, and acted in a more adult manner than all the important, fancy people in the other room combined.

Once again, I felt like crying but this time my symbolic tears were tears of joy - joy in knowing that there are people like Tad and Susan in the world who try, against all odds and upon the most improbable occasions, to simply extend a helping hand to some poor lost, suffering soul.

You know, there might just be some small glimmer of hope for the future of this frail estate we call humankind after all...