Fly

I pulled into my driveway a recent sunny morning and saw on my lawn a couple of birds in search of their breakfast. One, I quickly noticed, had a strange rhythm to its hop. Looking closer I could see one leg severely twisted, its foot facing an unnatural direction. The little bird couldn't support much weight on the leg, but it wobbled undeterred and energetic in its quest for food. Before long it found what it was searching for and, in a burst of surprising power, lifted toward the sky.

I watched until the bird disappeared and sat pondering the inevitable metaphors found in this quiet scene. The most resonant for me right now relates to one of the jobs I've had this past school year. After I agreed to do recess duty, the secretary told me they had a need for someone to work as a part time aide for a handicapped third grade boy. He already had a full time aide, but because of certain policy changes, she could only work a set number of hours and another person was needed to cover the remaining hours of the school day.

The job description essentially requires me to be his hands. His condition is some big long word that starts with an a which affected his development in utero. He has very little muscle in his arms and legs. Much like the little bird's foot, his hands are misshapen, the fingers basically unusable. So while he is in a mainstream classroom - Spanish immersion at that - he needs a wheelchair to get around and can't hold a pencil in his hands.

But enough of what he can't do. Here's what has been a marvelous, surprising, uplifting revelation to me. He was telling me something one day and mentioned just as naturally as could be how he was "differently-abled" and then carried on with the rest of his story. Of course, I'd heard the term used before, but now I was witnessing on a fairly intimate level the truth of the phrase. Undoubtedly there are some things he will never do as well or as easily as his peers. But he can do many things and remarkably well. He uses his mouth for most things we use our hands -- writing, turning pages, even folding paper. I dare anyone to challenge him to a spit wad contest. He uses his arm to drive and steer his wheelchair, which he can maneuver forward and backward with impressive accuracy. He participates in soccer and dodge ball and tag games without hesitation. He's enthusiastic about physical therapy. He had a surgery a few months ago to remove some hardware from his legs placed there during an unsuccessful operation last summer. He came back to school excited about the new braces he would wear that would help support his knees enough that he can stand with minimal support and even walk, aided, around the school. He is not ashamed of his differences and has rallied many other children around him. They cheer his successes and are true friends.

I had a moment during one of his physical therapy sessions watching while the therapist held his body so he could stand straight and tall. Usually, because of the lack of muscle to support his frame, he leans far forward and has little balance. But as he stood there that day, I envisioned him whole and strong. I thought of how his mother and father must see him, not just as a condition requiring 24 hour assistance, but as a child of God with unlimited potential. It's easy to quickly see the defects and disabilities, just as I could easily spot the broken foot on the little bird. But with a change of perspective, an expanded vision, I began to witness the power with which and the heights to which he can and will fly.

Help wanted

The kids celebrated 100 days of school this week, which means I marked 100 days as a recess duty guard. Yes, I spend an hour-and-a-half every school day monitoring the playground. My job description, according to Aiden:

"You get paid to make kids cry."

Not really what I'm shooting for, but if that's the job description, I am succeeding with flying colors.

The irony is that many of those same kids end up being my recess buddies. I like to think it's cause they know I only discipline them because I care about them. More likely it's cause they want to point out all the other kids who are being naughty.

While the job doesn't exactly fulfill all my hopes and dreams, it has its perks. For example:

• I get to see my own kids and give them hugs every day. Their friends say they wish their moms were duty guards.
• I work with a couple of the best women ever
• I have little friends who seek me out daily
• I don't have a vitamin D deficiency
• I get some extra exercise 
• I have a whistle and a bag full of band-aids
• I'm honorary "grandma penguin" - why I have to be the grandma, I just don't know - and get to lead penguin conga lines
• I get invited to things like ballroom and story-telling competitions
• I get to wear a florescent orange vest...well, maybe that's not a perk
• I am serenaded with "Frozen" songs
• I can tie wet shoelaces when my fingers are icicles
• Kids tell me stories, share their successes, trust that I will help them, wave to me, give me hugs
• I see little friends around town and hear them whisper, "That's the duty guard."

That's me...