This was the fourth annual Hoops Challenger event. Benjamin has gone every time. It is the only day all year he even touches a basketball. The purpose is not about the score, or winning. A number of sponsors plan for weeks to give special needs kids a great morning. They swish it every time. 

Each participant is given a tee shirt, and name tag. Then they are matched up with a buddy. Ben's was named J.D. and he stuck by him the whole morning. There were smaller kids who were tripled up, either because they figured younger kids need more help or because they had a surplus of volunteers. 

I was curious about these volunteers. A hundred of them, who showed up on a Saturday to funnel their full attention to someone who will not say thank you, much less return the favor. Why is that? While there are indeed fairy tales about mice who rescue lions that have spared their puny lives, it seems unlikely that kids with disabilities can offer their social prowess to normal kids. 

And yet. 

There was one little guy with two eight year old girls assigned to him. They tailed him like paparazzi, asking if he wanted pizza, or stickers, or which buckets to put his raffle tickets in. 

To be honest, and as a card carrying member of the Moms of Kids with Disabilities I can be, some of them look quirky. Well, most of them really, if you watch long enough to notice the flapping, and twitching. But some of them are serial huggers too, and never learned to hold back their affection. 

There was one couplet that had a very small boy with a very large one. Maybe the tallest in the crowd. The organizers try to match ages when kids preregister but perhaps he was a walk in. Anyway the older boy was good with the ball. Really good. He made most of the shots when he was outside the circle, and a bunch never touched the rim. He was not interested in babying his buddy, and made him work hard to get near the ball. But the thing that kept my sympathy from kicking in was the smile on the kid's face. He loved it.

When it was time to draw tickets, a girl read each winner. Kids who tend to be slow, don't spring up instantly when their name is called. But the crowd of buddies had learned who they were and prodded them to their feet. My throat caught when I heard it.

"Ben O." 

A smaller boy whose name was indeed Ben jumped up, but was disappointed to realize it was not him. Meanwhile J.D. poked Ben into standing, and he shuffled over to receive his very own basketball and lime green sunglasses. 

Thankfully, a few tickets later the other Ben's name was called and he rushed to the table of prizes. Cheers and hoots from the crowd. 

A memory surfaced about a time we were at church camp fifteen years ago. There were three cooks who took a break mid afternoon to play basketball. They were very tall. Benjamin, at the time, was quite short. He stood on the edge of the court watching, and I believe, longing. One of the young men saw, and handed him the ball. Then he scooped Ben up and lifted him right to the hoop, where he dropped it in.  

It seems likely to me that the the buddies and cooks were blessed as well, though I am hard pressed to put it into words. But then traveling into the world of autism has taught me that words are not the only way hearts speak.