When was the last time you reached out to somebody who is different from you? I mean, really different from you?
It makes us feel uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Other people’s differences. We like to surround ourselves with people who are like us, people we can relate to. Hey, I get it. The majority of my friends are suburban, minivan-driving soccer moms, just like me. Not a whole lot of diversity in my social circle.
So here’s another question. When you see somebody with a disability, what do you do? Do you avert your eyes? Do you shift a little awkwardly and wonder what to say, if you should say anything at all?
I used to do that. And then I had a kid with a disability. A cognitive disability, no less, the kind that really weirds people out. My 7-year-old can attract a lot of attention to himself in public. He can be very loud, although cheerfully so. His speech is largely unintelligible, and his movements are a little bit awkward. He doesn’t know a stranger and will often walk up to somebody he’s never met and start telling them all about…something. Right now, while he’s young, there are people who still seem charmed by him. They’ll high five him and call him “buddy.” He likes that.
I see it changing, though, people’s responses to him. The older he gets, the more uncomfortable his behaviors can make some strangers feel. As long as people are kind, I don’t fault them for their discomfort (much). I wasn’t always the mother of a child with a disability, ya know. Before having Scott, I had virtually no contact with people with disabilities. The disability community was barely on my radar. Not because I was an insensitive clod (well, maybe just a little), but because I didn’t really know anybody with a disability.
But then I had Scott. And now I see, as different as he is, he’s just a kid. Just a 7-year-old kid, like other 7-year-old kids. He likes dinosaurs and cars and jumping on the trampoline. He tells knock-knock jokes. People love to tell me how kids like Scott are always “so happy,” but that’s not really true. He’s just like your kid, he gets angry and frustrated and disappointed and scared. And he has real relationships with our family, with his brother and sister, with his classmates, with his teachers and therapists.
Scott and relationships, friendships—that’s what keeps me up at night when I worry about my son. I worry about all of my kids, the way any mother worries, but it’s different with him. I worry if he will have friends as he gets older, if he will be included. For now, he’s invited to birthday parties, he plays with other kids on the playground, eats lunch with them in the cafeteria.
But what about when Scott is no longer in school? What about when he’s no longer in a classroom with other kids his age, every day? How will he meet people? How will he develop friendships? What will he do?
Here’s what I want for him: to find his place, in the community, where he feels like he belongs. Where he can develop friendships with others and know that he is valued.
Tomorrow night at First Baptist Church in Covington, you’ll see adults and teenagers like Scott, and you’ll see people like yourself, all hanging out and having a great time. It’s called Illuminate, and it’s an evening of real inclusion, with people of all types coming together for dinner, live music, skits and games.
The point of Illuminate is to foster relationships in a fun and welcoming environment while celebrating our differences. I attended the first Illuminate last year, and it really was beautiful, seeing so many people of so many ability levels, all coming together for a great party.
Illuminate is the brainchild of Zachary Slay, Adult Programs Coordinator at Northshore Families Helping Families. Zach is passionate about inclusion and encouraging people with disabilities to find their niche in the community, exactly what I want for Scott.
Describing his first Illuminate experience, Zach said, “Gazing over a crowd engaged in Illuminate, I witnessed people experiencing the freedom to be themselves. Bringing people of all abilities together through games, skits and music set the stage for an inspiring message. Together, we were encouraged to see how much we are loved. It’s beautiful to know you’re included in something bigger than anything you alone can produce.”
I’ve attended Illuminate, and it really was beautiful, the joy and warmth I witnessed that evening. It’s so encouraging, seeing our community make a real effort to encourage inclusion of people with special needs.
“This is what I want people to know,” Zach said, “you are included. Whoever you are, whatever limitations you have, you are an essential part of this body we call community.”
Won’t you join in tomorrow night? Illuminate is happening in the ROC building at First Baptist Covington from 6-9 p.m. You can find more information on the Northshore Families Helping Families Web site at www.fhfnorthshore.org.
(Betsy Swenson can be reached at sliindelife@gmail.com.)