When I was in third grade there were two kids who had... well something. There were no diagnosis back then for ASD, or ID or ED or ADHD or any of the other alphabet soup of conditions that exist today. Plus every time a label absorbs a negative spin, they change it. Retarded. Slow learners. Special needs. Handicapped. Disabled. It's easy to offend someone with just three syllables. 

For awhile kids who learned differently were secluded in a storage room with a marginally trained teacher. Then it was vogue to include them with the regular classroom kids, expecting them to learn through osmosis. My son is in a Life Skills room, that somehow draws neurotypical (fancy word for normal) students to come in in their free time to hang out and bake brownies. On Fridays Ben and his classmates become the hub of activity selling those brownies at lunch. 

In a few weeks there will be an event called Lip Sync, where the Life Skill boys hold a microphone on stage karaoke style, while a string of girls called buddies sway behind them. It is to me a miracle of generosity, that these misfits get to feel like they are the star for three glorious minutes. 

There is a school that incorporated girls in wheelchairs in the dance performance.  The walking dancers twirl them in their chairs, while the sitting ones smile in their tutus. It has nothing to do with pity, or aren't-we-nice-to-include-them. The dancers with strong legs lunge from the foot pedals of the wheelchairs, and later lean the chairs back, supporting the girls in them as if they are gold. 

Sometimes our partners seem unable to do what we can easily. Talk honestly. Listen with empathy. Buy Christmas presents. The challenge is in slipping past blame, or anger about it, to a place where we can not simply accept them for it, but to hold them like gold.