She asked for her mommy as she got on the lift. Her dad told her that mommy would meet them later. We rode up quietly together, just the four of us. I always love watching fathers with their daughters, especially when the interaction is so sweet and loving. I didn't notice, until she was getting off the lift, that this little girl has Down's Syndrome. I wanted to say something to her father, to tell him how touched I was to see him with his daughter. I knew it would come out the wrong way, so I said nothing.
As I watched father and daughter ski off, with dad holding his poles horizontally in front of him so his daughter could hold onto and be guided by them, I just thought that we've got it so wrong. We follow the burps and tweets of every version of idiot on the planet, but we too often fail to notice the true giants among us, the everyday heros. Here was a parent not outsourcing his job, not abandoning ship, not making excuses. Here was a dad having a day out with his daughter, just the two of them skiing.
Of course I've no idea what the back story is here. Maybe there's something not so heroic in this family's history. If so, that would just make them like the rest of us. But parents like him deserve a shout-out. Yes, I've got a horse in this race, but it's just true that it's harder to be the parent of a special needs child. And hell, it's harder to be the siblings, too.
I know more heros than I ever thought I would, people whose generosity and tenacity in just getting through another day leaves me in awe of them. There are Elizabeth, Diane and Jane, all raising kids with personalities rocked be emotional instability. There's Laurie, who smiles through the toughest days, and whose stories about sun-up runs to the donut shop always make me laugh.
There are the people whose names I don't know, like the mom who walked behind her son as he wheeled himself into the adaptive center for his day on the slopes. There was Taylor, a local boy who slurred his words and told my son, "I remember you, NG." And then he invited us to watch him sing in his school musical.
I watch my own husband with our kids and I think: "Never was born--or will be born--a man who gives more of himself to his kids." On his worst day, he's a better man and father than most.
That father and daughter on that ski run reminded me of how all the therapy, expertise and advice in the world can't begin to stack up against the only thing that ever matters to kids, and ever will. A parent's unconditional love and acceptance.
