Living (not Trapped)

      Kevin was not trapped in a body--he was living in a body. Kevin was fully alive (and vibrant) even though his body could not move. Perhaps this is why Kevin so enjoyed when others would pick up his hands or feet to bring movement and motion to his body; movement which gave expression to his ongoing--ever present--inner joy. When you assisted Kevin, you became swept up (added into) the overwhelming joy he had for living.

A Stand-Up Wife

     After meeting Ron, a quadriplegic man and his wife, Sarah, Kevin went back to 4th grade a changed person. But I didn’t realize just how much he had changed. For back to school night, Kevin’s teacher asked the students to draw a picture of themselves as adults. Kevin knew right away what he wanted to draw. He decided he wanted a picture of himself as a married adult. So I --being his hands-- set out to draw Kevin and his wife. First I drew a wheelchair with Kevin sitting in it. Kevin liked this part of the picture. Then I started to draw a second wheelchair next to the first. Kevin immediately saw where I was going.

     “Mr. Allen . . . Mr. Allen” Kevin said, “No Mr. Allen.” I stopped drawing. My thinking was that he didn’t like the color of his wife’s wheelchair. But then as I listened, I wasn’t able to make out exactly what he was saying. But I could tell it was very important. It wasn’t the color of the wheelchair that was bothering him. But something wasn’t right. He kept saying something over and over. Whatever it was it had four syllables in it.

     Finally, after a few minutes, I figured out what he was saying. I smiled.

     “A stand up wife?” I asked.

     “Yes, Mr. Allen, a stand-up wife … like Ron.”

Lost in Another World

In my day to day rush of being a teacher, I usually attempt to speak and say hello to all the students on our campus. Even when it seems these students are not aware of my presence or the environment around them, I still say hello and acknowledge them by name. Often the most severe (or profoundly challenged) do not look up or even acknowledge my greeting or presence; they are lost in another world. But I know they hear me because on other days I find them gazing or vocalizing in my direction, trying to make a connection. It seems as if they are calling my name, trying to make eye contact. But often at these times I am absorbed with a task; lost in another world, too busy to reach out or adequately connect.

I recently looked up while working with one of my students and discovered a well known high school student staring into my classroom from the playground just outside the door. As soon as he knew I was aware of his presence, he started vocalizing, and stomping his feet. When I smiled at him--he smiled back and began to vocalize louder and stomp his feet even more dramatically.  He was acknowledging our contact. I have no idea how long he had been at the door watching me work. However, once we made eye contact, I knew he was beckoning me to play or follow.