Charlie usually rides the bus, but there are mornings or afternoons each week where I drop him off or pick him up myself. A few days ago we had just such an occasion, and I pushed Charlie over to school–he in the front seat of a double stroller and the twins riding together in the back, which was pulled down bassinet-style.
We pulled up to class and there with Charlie’s teacher stood a little boy who had class with Charlie last year. An adorable little guy with red hair and freckles, I’m not sure exactly what his disability is as he looks perfectly normal to me. Of course, I’m probably the worst judge of that in the entire world. All kids who can walk and talk look pretty darn normal to me. As we walked up, he told the teacher, “Chawee.”
The little boy is no longer in Charlie’s class–he spends most of his day in Kindergarten–but it’s the job of one of the special ed teachers to get him to class. Charlie’s teacher greeted us, and placed Charlie in his wheelchair. She then announced to the red-headed boy, “Charlie is going to go with us to take you to Kindergarten.” The little boy smiled, put one hand on the chair, and then decided, he’d like to push it. And so he did–him pushing, so low to the ground he couldn’t possibly see over the chair–and the teacher above him, guiding the chair and making sure there were no accidents.
Off went my little boy. A seamless part of his school. Accepted as he is by people too young to care that he’s different.
I left with a smile on my face.