Benjamin is twenty. It feels like the closing of one era and stepping into another. While he is still eligible for public school for another year, the parameters of adulthood are high on our collective agenda. 

He invited girls he knows from school, including the ones who are part of that elite group of saints known as buddies. They volunteer in the Life Skills classroom out of sheer altruism. The students listen to his jokes and help him stir brownie batter. We met at our favorite bakery, and he opened their gifts. I reminded him to say thank you. 

Conversation takes on a new slant when special needs are at play. Awkward silences slide into unselfconscious interludes. But it was supposed to be a party so I tried to keep it going. I invited him to spout off the factors of large numbers, like 1002. I never get tired of how he does that. Then he wanted to recite all the presidents in order, including middle names. Of course lines from his favorite movies came up, and the list of those that have Santa in the cast. I invited him to sing the song he will be performing on stage this week, You've Got a Friend in Me, which he did. 

"Some folks might be a little bit smarter than I am, bigger and stronger too. But none of them will ever love you the way I do, just me and you."

His siblings called throughout the day, and other people he cares about dropped off balloons and presents. Without setting out to make a mark on the world, it turns out he has. 

It's funny how we fall for the lie that intellect and opulent popularity are the standards for meaningful life. Maybe it is enough to simply share a cupcake. Just me and you.