Everyone has to show up. No matter how pressed for time you are, or how many personal assistants you have at your beck and call you have to get your license in person. 

It seemed prudent to get Benjamin a state issued photo ID, regardless of the fact that he will never drive a car. Fortunately for me he considers the idea ridiculous. Not all special needs people do. One battle for which I can be a conscientious objector. 

We hopped in the car and I pointed out the temperature.

"Seventy one degrees. How many factors?" 

He smiled. "One, and seventy one. It's prime!" It is always a source of glee when they pop up. 

The rigmarole at the DMV includes getting a number in one of three categories, and ours was 626. We sat down. He had Harry Potter in his lap but decided not to read just then. 

"How about this number?" I held up our ticket. At first glance I assumed that rattling off the factors for this one would keep him busy for at least thirty seconds.  

"One, two, three hundred thirteen and six hundred and twenty six!" he said without a pause. We both laugh when we fool the number genies by choosing one with hardly any. But what I would like to know is how in the world does he eliminate all the contenders for multiplication so fast?

The DMV is a busy place, and there is a cross section of humanity there. The wanna-be-theres and the don't-wanna-be-theres. The first group are not yet seventeen, and can hardly believe their day has arrived to hold the keys. To pump their foot on the gas. To turn the steering wheel. Their weary and reluctant parent stands by them, weighted by the increase in insurance, and the knowledge that teenage drivers cost more for a reason. 

Two little kids were whispering and dancing. My guess was that they lived in different sized houses, based on their clothes. But it mattered not a whiff to them in this sea of grown ups, who all seemed to be annoyed. The children were not bored. They had each other and the wait was long. Time enough to play. One of their mothers finished her business, and called to her daughter briskly. She wiped her hands of this chore and had other places to be. The fast friends looked at each other longingly. This was goodbye. Because children live under the unrelenting schedules of their mothers. 

The same four walls surrounded each of the hundred people in the room. Yet their responses varied considerably. It seemed that the younger ones were more content with what this day had to offer. 

When it was Ben's turn to have his picture taken the man told him to smile. Ben produced one of those forced grins that show up on school picture day. He hadn't shaved in awhile, and looked scruffy. No matter.

On the way home I mentioned the temperature again. 

"It warmed up, Ben. It's eighty five. How many?"

"One, five, seventeen and eighty five!" his smile was big. Too bad I didn't ask when they snapped his photo. 

He held the ID card in his hands, and I glanced at him. At that moment all I felt was affection for this man boy. An emotion no camera could capture.