Trying to be better - the face of an 8 year-old

A few days ago, I volunteered to help at my daughter's end of school year 'party.' Since she's only 9, it really is an 'end of school year play-fest.'

The place I 'worked' was at the 'big inflatable jumper' thing we've probably all seen. A big, square, inflated pad with nets on the side and an air-filled roof, kept up by a couple of fans. My work was to count off the kids, keep track of time/shifts, and to occasionally push the whole thing back into place (it bounced around enough that it kept choking off the inflating tubes coming from the fans).

During my last shift, a class of 2nd graders came in which had 3-4 special needs kids. Three were mentally challenged/autistic, one was both mentally challenged, and lacked significant motor control. Her name was Amy.

The last shift in the jumper was theirs. In went the three other kids (Josh, Henry, and a name I've forgotten) and Amy. I encouraged the other kids to grab the nets and bounce, they were nervous, and to a degree, a little uncoordinated, so this helped them have some fun.

Amy....well, the para-professional, paid for by all of us, Deb I think her name was, well she picked up Amy and bounced with her, supporting her under her arms while doing so. Amy has just enough motor skill to (sort of) support her own weight.

Amy's smile was so large, so completely engrossed and joyful, it brought tears to my eyes. It was obvious this simple thing, we all take for granted, the ability to feel weightless, to float, to fly, was something she rarely got to experience. She was ecstatic from the moment it started, to the last moment she had in the jumper. I let them go a few minutes longer than planned for, just to allow her as much of this simple pleasure as I could. When Amy got out of the jumper (or rather was carried out), Deb said she "smiled all the time" as a brush-off to my expression of my gratitude for Deb's efforts, but Amy expressed just how much she wanted to stay by making her whole body rigid, and moaning at being taken outside and away from this experience. Perhaps Amy does smile all the time, but it was clear from what came after, that her time just 'bouncing' was glorious to her.

I gained a profound respect for Deb, and for any para-professionals who work with children like Amy, children who are terrific people, but with challenges most of us can't imagine. From dealing with tantrums because of the inability to speak (Amy cannot really speak), to carrying them bodily when required, to bringing them simple joys we all take for granted, Deb (and those like her) - remind me of the genuine human decency which we all desire to show, but too often forget to live.

That day, when I looked for a moment of goodness, for the face of God, I found it in an 8 year-old's joyous smile, and in the unqualified kindness of a 30-something, underpaid teacher. When we judge our lives, we will do so by measuring the kindness we've shown and contributions to bettering lives we've made. I doubt Deb will feel unfulfilled, she certainly is well-loved.