Special Needs

Special needs? Yes, I had some this week. This was one of the most challenging weeks I’ve had both personally and professionally in a long time. I’d lost a dear friend just the week before to asthma and pneumonia, big changes were threatening the stability of my school; those changes happened so swiftly we hadn’t had time to prepare for them, and one of my student’s emotional stability was crumbling before my eyes in raging melt-downs earlier that day, so much so that I feared he might end up with a diagnosis of emotionally disturbed. I was trying to have faith, trying to think positive, trying to let logic win over emotion, faith and doubt collided the moment I sat down to read a story to my first graders.

After much roller-coaster riding, my emotions were winning and as I read the story, my voice began to crack.  I couldn’t squelch the tears that threatened to leak out, so I held the book in front of me and pointed to the illustrations and attempted to sound more animated. I could sense the kids wondering about the slight crack in my voice. They sat quietly, more quietly than normal; not one six-year-old giggle, not one six-year-old shout-out, nothing.

Nothing, until I felt a small gentle hand on my leg. My most needy student, one with a diagnosis of autism in the severe range, reached up and put his hand on top of my knee. I swallowed hard. It’s not unusual for the student to give hugs to anyone and everyone. He loves everybody and is much loved by all the children and staff.

I kept reading, pointing, and kept back the tears. The little boy got up, stood next to me and wrapped his arms around me, then rested his head gently on my shoulder. I reached up and patted his smooth black hair as the kids cooed in unison….”Awwwww….he’s so cute.”

I’ll admit, one small tear fell, but only one, and I told the kids the truth; it was because the little boy was so sweet.

I had at least ten more hugs that day, more than normal and gentler than the little boy’s usual enthusiastic bear hug.

I knew he had seen the emotional melt-down of the student earlier that day, had seen the student restrained and removed from class. It was this Special Needs student that stood up in the midst of the raging tantrum of  another boy, a boy with no diagnosis,  and forcefully told the rest of the class not to laugh at the child as the undiagnosed student kicked and screamed. It was this  Special Needs child who couldn’t put into words what he was feeling, but somehow sensed the way I was feeling and did something about it.

I gave him two things out of the classroom treasure box that day. When a student asked him why he got TWO things, he simply responded, “Because I coot (cute).”

Thank God for children who see life from a different perspective. I know why people say Special Needs children are a gift; it’s because they are!

At Least I Wasn’t Yawning!

      I made it a point to arrive early to work today even though I hadn’t had nearly enough coffee. When I arrived at my classroom door, I sleepily examined the colorful Tulip poster I’d placed there several months earlier. I’m not sure why, but I lingered there with my key in the door, perhaps delaying the inevitable necessity of actually walking through the threshold when it happened.

As I began slowly swinging the door open, key still in the lock, I caught a glimpse of a small…well... small something, falling from above my head with a small thud near my shoulder, then finally a quiet splash onto the concrete. That’s when my racing pulse kicked in. I didn’t have to even look, I knew it was the ultimate nemesis of women everywhere….Yes, the juicy, black roach lay writhing, body curling upward as its seemingly hundreds of skinny legs flailed wildly in the air.

I avoided screaming-barely- but couldn’t manage avoiding jumping up and down, checking my hair feverishly, and swiping at my shoulders to be sure the critter didn’t have any friends.

You could say my day started out with an unexpected event for sure, but I prefer to look on the bright side-at least I wasn’t yawning!

Beware of Frozen Cokes and Angry Birds

After watching a news clip on the addicting game, Angry Birds, it left me pondering my own encounters with the feathery little beasts. I’m sure many of my experiences are quite ordinary; a bird flying into an overly clean window scaring me half to death with it’s loud thud as it crashes full speed into the pane or the many instances where birds have mistaken my grill for a nest and my hood for a restroom.

These mundane experiences do not bother me in the least. It’s when they mistake my
fingers for, well a place to relieve themselves that it becomes problematic.

Before I became a bit wiser, I often paid no attention to the location of pigeons, or any other sort of feathered being above my head. I just went about my business without a thought as to the need for cover or safe-haven from their antics. On this particular
day, I was lulled into the false sense of security as I basked in the warming sun after a particularly wet winter. It was the beginning of spring, and I was determined to enjoy it fully by being out in nature and soaking up the sun.

On the way to our intended destination, my children requested frozen coke, one of the little perks of warmer weather. As I made my way out of the store, arms loaded with three overflowing slurpees, I paid no attention whatsoever to the giant overhangs above my head, after all AM/PM’s and many other gas stations often have these overhangs to protect gas pumps from the sun. I heard the fluttering above my
head, but walked unimpeded by the ominous warning as I began to thirst for the sweet icy drink now dripping from the cups. The cherry looked especially inviting as it drizzled over the lip of the cup sending tiny droplets of red cool
sweetness onto the concrete below.

I felt a large drop fall on my hand, then another. Certain that the frozen treat was everywhere, I licked the wet place on my thumb hoping nobody was looking at the unmannerly way I just lapped up what I was sure was a savory treat without even looking up.

I was shocked and horrified as the pungent flavor that suddenly hit my tongue, only to travel immediately to the back of my sinuses. The revolting familiar flavor instantly reminded me  of the vaguely familiar odor one might experience in a dirty public restroom. The kind of acidic odor that is nearly tasted but one that is never wanted-only I did taste it. It was unmistakable. This had been no slurpee taking rest on my fingers; the sudden recognition that this most bitter, vinegary, and urine-like taste must have been a direct shot from one of the many pigeons overhead sent me running for the car. Why had I not realized the substance on my hand had not been cold?

I’m certain I drew attention to myself as I went from a casual stroll to a full-blown sprint attempting to balance three overflowing drinks while spitting and sputtering every bit of liquid from my mouth. I slammed the drinks on the roof of my small car, opened
the lid of one of the drinks, and began swishing it inside my mouth to erase the bitter bathroom taste. I watched the horrified faces of my children who’s wide-eyed stoic faces began to turn up in a smile watching their mother feverishly rubbing her tongue with the palms of her hands while simultaneously jumping up and down. My husband waited for no one in laughing. He assessed the
situation rather quickly as the mocking menaces fluttered violently overhead as if laughing too.

I’ve had very few frozen Cokes since that day and always under the secure cover of the roof of a car!

Keep It To Yourself!

It’s not that I have anything against portability or flexibility, but when it comes to teeth I just think the less I know the better. Recently, I decided to make my way to our local urgent care center instead of wait for my regular physician. I’ve been guilty of this many times as I really avoid the doctor all together. After this visit, I may swear off the urgent care as well.

Of course, no one ever really knows where to sit in those places. I surveyed each row of cold black plastic chairs. None of the rows were empty as I had hoped. I would be forced to sit nearly right next to another person waiting for care. So, I chose a seat closest to the door near a seemingly quiet man in his fifties. He looked harmless enough. Certainly it was better than sitting near the woman who had perched what was presumably a vomit bucket directly on the seat next to her. I thought about the splash that might occur should she loose her lunch, the poor lady. It seemed like that row was seriously off limits. I also decided that sitting next to the trio of young men wearing sagging pants, dark glasses, red headbands, spider web tattoos all the way up their arms, and a snarl on each of their faces was out. Yes, sitting next to the quiet stranger by the door was perhaps the best choice.

As I sat awaiting my call to the triage nurse, I listened to the familiar sounds of the room. A cranky old fellow in a wheel chair lodged loud complaints about the doctors and the government as his son tried to calm him. His criticism was interrupted every so often by his wheezy cough. The phone rang intermittently and secretaries would remark, “Can you hold, please?” I wondered if they ever got back to the callers in all of their business. I turned to see the spider web trio crossing their arms as they looked angrily about them. I wondered what brought them to urgent care and why they continued to look about them as they did.

Nonetheless, my little corner of the facility was quiet. It didn’t seem as if the man I’d perched next to made a sound; no coughing, no sneezing, and thankfully no complaining. Since I was sitting directly next to him, I made it a point to avoid looking in his direction. After all neither of us were probably feeling well. That’s the whole point of urgent care. I didn’t want to talk, but the man was so silent amongst all the noise I was curious to get a better look at him.

I fixed my gaze in both horror and fascination as the man slid his false teeth out of the upper quadrant of his mouth. The slimy string of saliva that trailed as he tugged on the pink gum line of his top set of teeth didn’t seem to move the man in the least. I’m certain I should have averted my eyes, but I was filled with disgusted wonder as he spit into the trash can nearby, then slid his upper set back to thier original position. I moved my body slightly further away wishing for another chair, as the man repeated the process of extracting the slime-filled falsies. The man seemed to find an unsettling rhythm; teeth out, teeth in, spit, teeth out, teeth in, and spit again.

Suddenly, it occurred to me; “I’m just not that sick”.  I got up and left and headed straight for the couch at home safely away from gangsters, vomit, and most of all removable teeth!

“I’m Really a Man” she said.

Stepping into the cool night air during a lazy summer evening should not be so confusing. My family and I often go out on the patio to take in the sweetly scented breeze during this season. We enjoy watching the little black and white kittens bounce around the lawn as they discover the boundaries of their newly formed pouncing instinct. The tiny fur balls bounce and roll on the lawn, pawing at each other and bouncing all over. Now when I say bouncing, you perhaps need to picture Tigger from Whinnie the Pooh. These kittens look as if they are on springed boots for the height they get bouncing from a complete stand still.

Normally this activity provides lots of laughs and passes the time better than television or cleaning to be sure. On this evening however, I got a bit of a shock.

As I went to retrieve my little entertainment filled fur balls from their room just adjacent to the back patio, I heard a female voice shouting. “I have something to tell you!” The voice came from the direction of our neighbor’s yard.  I know it was wrong, but the voice was so loud and insistent, I abandoned my quest and listened up. It sounded as if the woman was standing just on the other side of the fence only three feet away from me. I’ll admit, I dislike the nosiness of neighbors as much as anyone and I felt like a heal as I stood their with bated breathe waiting for the announcement that was not intended for my ears.

“I’m really a man” She said. I stood silent for a moment. The neighbor’s house was silent too. No one spoke for at least thirty seconds. Then, a sudden screeching of tires caught my attention. Screeching of tires? We both have dirt driveways. The instant realization that I had been eavesdropping on a television program filled my brain. I remembered suddenly that my neighbor is nearly deaf and often reads lips.

All I can say is his surround sound certainly is captivating!

I Met My Sister in a Letter

December 8^th, 1993 is the day I met my sister in a letter.

“Dear Liza”, it read. I just love that. Somehow, I could hear her rich English accent through each letter with a particular emphasis on that “z”. Of course, no one else on this earth has ever called me Liza. I loved that. I can remember gingerly handing the letter as if it would crumble to pieces in my hands should I breathe too hard on it.

“This is my sister. My sister that I never even knew existed until a few weeks ago” I chanted in a whisper. It was almost a dream.

“In my wildest dreams, I never imagined you writing to me…” She said back to me in the letter.

I know why she never imagined it. She never imagined it, because neither of us knew about the other. My sister is my father’s daughter. She was adopted by an English couple and her adoption records sealed off from our dad. She was raised in England and I was raised in America.

I’ll never forget our first phone call. I nearly held my breath as she, through her soft spoken accent, began to tell me about her life, her children, and her desire to meet all of us.

We met shortly after the first letter and phone correspondence. We picked her up at LAX and brought her home. The poor thing was so ill from the flight she had to be rushed to the hospital. No complaints though. That, I’ve learned, is the trademark of my sister. She never complains. As we talked over those two weeks, I was amazed to discover that empty piece I’d always felt existed somewhere within was filled. It was almost a physical sense.

I thought about how as a child I’d often wondered if I were adopted. I’d always felt a little odd and out of place. I’d even experimented with different last names as soon as I was old enough to dislike the one I had.

Our next meeting, again in my little hometown, she brought her three beautiful children. Her children and mine would look at us from time to time in wonder as we would say the exact same phrase at the exact same time. It was odd…even to us.

Then, we just began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. It seemed every phone conversation that followed was filled with belly laughter so deep that we might need to prepare the next time with sit-ups before we spoke. Everything seemed funny and right.

It has been an amazing experience to have this sister who has so greatly enriched my life. I love her not just because she is my sister and nearly my twin in so many ways, but because she is a beautiful caring person.

If you have a sister and can reach her-hug her. I wish mine were close enough to do this today. The ocean seems too big today.