There is an annual event sponsored by Kiwanis. Schools and clubs with special needs people are invited to come play basketball. This was our second time to go and I was slightly better prepared. Last year I felt triumphant to have brought my son in clean clothes, only I noticed that he was the only one in the whole gymnasium wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. This year he had on shorts and a t shirt. 

The people who self select to coach and ref these games have encouragement as their guiding principal. There is a wide margin for bending the rules. Usually Ben carried the ball close to his chest if he had a chance to run down the court. Adults would call out to remind him to dribble but no one considered penalizing him. And if he missed his chance to get it in the basket, they tossed it to him to try again. And again. There was plenty of cheering, and fist bumping,   

I texted his siblings with a photo of him landing the ball in the net and the words "Ben made four baskets." Several responded quickly with emojis and affirmations. One sister told me that her first thought had been to assume he wove them with reeds, which says something about the athleticism of our family.  

There were all kinds of disabilities in the room, both physical and mental. Yet there was a complete absence of judgment about it. Neither was there the self consciousness that can change the mood of bringing our autistic son out in public. Although, fortunately, most critical comments never reach the air, they still leak out of our faces. Yet all afternoon I felt nothing but acceptance, generously given. 

When we stood in line for lunch I noticed one kid take three hot dogs. My knee jerk response was to have an opinion about that. But my presumptuousness stood out like red ink on a kindergartener's picture. Who was I to judge?

I wonder what would happen if I could carry the affirming spirit with me into the world of "abilities". Maybe all of us would keep playing the game.