I never asked to be part of the special needs community. My mother had spent years trying to honor those children who could not keep up in the classroom. Back in the sixties there were no policies about inclusion, or handicapped accessible bathrooms. The kids who lagged behind were sometimes welcome, other times ignored. 

 

At least that is my memory. I was only five at the time. 

 

Anyway Mom scooped up the misfits and found interesting things for them to do, like play games. Her magic was not in her training, since there was none available. Rather she actually cared about them, and saw the spark inside a thick covering. She tried to get me to see it too, though I was not so inclined. 

 

But maybe those efforts to build compassion in her youngest daughter, the one who had trouble hearing the teacher and seeing the chalkboard, actually took hold. 

 

Thirty years later I became a card carrying member of the Moms of Special Needs Children Club, and some of those subliminal messages started to wake up. It has been my challenge, and that of our family, to inconvenience ourselves enough to meet Benjamin half way. More than. To serve him not because it is easy, or reciprocal, or there is a prize at the end. 

 

A friend who grew up in a family with a special needs sister was telling me about her impact. 

 

"The rest of us did not always get along with each other. But we all connected to her.  She had an innocence around her that drew us in, and invited us to be our better selves with her."

 

It was not that they became self sacrificing by middle school. She used to ride the buses around town, and all of the drivers knew her. She sat right behind them, and they looked out for her. He and his brothers would not be caught sitting by her, so took seats closer to the back. But they saw that people cared about her. She mattered to them. 

 

"When my brother died, many of the family had unresolved feelings about him. He had burned bridges. There was one great photograph at the funeral of him smiling and waving. It reminded me of his good side. It turns out the picture was of him waving to our sister."

 

These years where autism runs the plumb line through Benjamin's life are long. At least if you fall for the illusion that this is all there is. For those of us who believe that the real story is much more epic than this intro affords, I get an inkling that Benjamin's influence on our family will rank high among the things I am grateful for. Getting to know him without the encumbrance of a disability will be prize enough for me.