Road construction this summer has limited us to just one route. As we travel on Division Avenue toward 54th street we pass multiple times a day a person holding a "WE BUY GOLD" sign in one hand (the sign also has a rope attached to both sides that slides around the back of the neck) while the other hand waves at whatever traffic flows past. There are two people who share this awesome responsibility. One is a man and the other a woman, both look like they are in their mid 20's and both are obviously "special needs". They never smile and always have this look of grave concern on their faces. Silver and gold have I not but what I have I give them. From my passenger seat I smile and wave back.
One day last week as we are approaching our gold man my cute young teen driver remarks with a condescending tone indicating this is something she would never do; "That looks SO hard!" I respond; "I'm guessing this is one of the few jobs he can get and he's thrilled to have it." I don't think I'm in anyway superior to this teen. If given a chance she might hand a few bucks to the several healthy looking intersection panhandlers we also pass each afternoon on our route while I wonder if McDonald's has stopped hiring.
When I was growing up our extended family had property on the shoreline of Lake Michigan. Many beautiful summer Sunday afternoons and evenings were spent there with my parents, brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles and of course my grandparents who were the part owners of that wonderful piece of real estate. Sometimes other family would also show up, more likely on a Saturday or during the week and in one of those families was a girl who had downs syndrome. She was a few years older than me and I remember my mother saying that kids like her required a lot more effort from parents to raise and that the normal life expectancy for children like her did not extend much longer than 30 years.
When you are a youngster you don't ponder much about getting to thirty. The awfulness of the fact was tempered then by the thought that there was still a long way to go to get there. A more earth shattering concept was delivered to me by my mother the day I turned thirty. "Just think Bob. In just 10 more years you will turn 40!" I think I was depressed for about a month after that little jolt of reality. I'm sure that despite all the extra work, if the parents of my third cousin had received that news they would have thrown a party.
We were not real close to that family and I cannot recall now what ever happened to her or even her name for that matter. I'm sure I would recognize it if mentioned but now since my mind draws a blank I will call her Sarah. She was the first "special needs" person I had known. We did not interact much if at all. I was a boy, she was a girl. I liked jumping into the waves or playing catch or digging and forming sand forts. Sarah stayed close to her mom. What I did pick up, even then, was that Sarah's parents loved her and would do anything for her and that she was family just like the rest of us.
Years later my older sister and husband had what would be their only child. At around the age of two it seemed that Kevin stopped developing mentally. The difficulty of his autism was compounded by physical problems in his legs as well as periodic epileptic episodes. Kevin was the same age as my youngest Becky and you would think, looking through the eyes of the world, that some things are just not fair. Here I was, nothing special but blessed with 5 healthy, bright and active children and there was my sister, fighting everyday for Kevin with officials and authorities so that he could get a break. We could look at our kids and wonder what great things were ahead of them. Carol and Ed would hug Kevin and hope for a good night.
Jackie, the kids and I loved seeing Kevin. He would learn these little sayings and then impress us with them when we got together. I think the best was one time when we were with my brother Jim. Now I have never been overly concerned with my looks. My hair does what it does, my six pack is now a case and I like to wear the same Levi jeans all week. On the other hand Jim has always liked to look good. Every hair on his mustache is trimmed perfectly, he wears stylish clothes and his personal trainer goes by the name of Swen. Kevin was about 16 and in a room full of people including me but he walks over and sticks a finger in Jim's belly and says, gaining steam with each word; "Looks like someone's had ONE TOO MANY HOT FUDGE SUNDAES!" It was just too perfect to forget.
One day Jackie and I came home and received a message on our answering machine that I also will never forget. It was choked out from my sister Carol. "Kevin's dead." Kevin who was then 21 was taking a bath, had an epileptic episode, and drowned. When we went to his funeral in Chicago we met some of his special needs friends, heard stories about what he and his best buddy liked to do, and found out a lot more about the activities he loved, such as archery. Kevin was a blessing. Ed said that there were times when it didn't seem such a blessing, as when Kevin got older (and heavier) and their tandem bike was heading uphill without Kevin's assist. But mostly a blessing.
During a break while I was working on this post Jackie and I went out to a Texas Steak House. Wouldn't you know it, in the booth across from us was a family with a special needs girl who looked about 18. Her moaning was occasionally quite loud but guess what, our steaks were still great. I just smiled. This is life, we are all on this journey together.
One last story. There is a Shell gas station on the North side of Holland on the busy corner of River Avenue and Ottawa Beech Road. During the summer months the station provides a back area for groups to raise money doing car washes. The usual set up is this. I drive by and see two cute girls standing on the corner dressed in bathing suits, sometimes bikinis, and they hold up a car wash sign. Some of these girls are real hawkers. They wave, they point at your car, they yell; "come on buddy, your car is dirty" and since it is I may stop. Often standing next to the two girls is one boy who does no work at all but is just there to chat up the girls. He is often wearing shades. Then when I drive by the area where the cars are being washed I see several kids spraying the hose at several other kids while the cars are being washed by the adults who are supervising their youth group.
One day as I approach I see two girls and a boy at the corner but something looks a little different. As I get closer I notice that these are special needs kids, thick bodies and all, dressed in modest bathing suits, waving their car wash signs. Driving past the washing area I see the rest of the special needs kids spraying the hoses at each other, their parents or supervisors doing the washing. Ha! Kids are kids, where ever, what ever.
We all have a destiny that goes far beyond the fleeting years given us. It calls Sarah, it calls Kevin, it calls the moaning girl from Texas Road House. They are the innocents. It calls us as well. One day I did turn 40 and then 50 and then 60. One day I will stop turning and some wag might inscribe on my grave stone; "Look's like someone's had ONE TOO MANY HOT FUDGE SUNDAES!'
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