A Good Day--the Experience

Today was a Good Day.

Here is what happened.

The students filed in, or rather flooded, burst, or whatever word describes the entry of high schoolers into a room.

They sat down.

Mark was absent. No worries, though. That's why God created review lessons (we've all had them).

The students then proceeded to school us. For the entire 2 1/2 hours. Our prepared introduction? The one we thought would take 30-45 minutes? Oh, that? Yep, they answered the questions independently in about 15 minutes. I can't think of a nicer feeling than being proved wrong when one's expectations are too low. (Except, perhaps, being proved right when they are incredibly high.)

Here are some other highlights:

Gary, who always insults his own work and abilities: finishing everything beautifully (and first), using his own work as an example to teach the rest of the class, grinning and bowing to their applause, suddenly a leader.

Dylan, who sits apart from the group writing random letters: copying notes perfectly and participating in the discussion, though he has no words, and, when he came for his supplies, spontaneously presenting his own work to the group (re: Gary) with enthusiasm and pride, suddenly a participant.

Aaron, who dwells in the isolation of severe autism, scribbling til crayon shavings line the page: looking me in the eye, listening; joining the group activities; not falling apart, even though his assistant insisted "he's going to lose it, he's going to lose it" (wouldn't we all, with that chanted in our ear?); who chose string cheese, even though his assistant insisted he didn't like it (what's going on here?!!), and proceeding to independently open and consume the whole thing with zeal, suddenly a cheese-eater.

The list goes on. Over and over, these students revealed a capacity greater than we had expected, pride in their accomplishments, enthusiasm, the joy of learning.

You must realize that this is not my life. Most days I wonder if I make even a ripple of difference. Usually, I am humbled by my limitations. Today, I was humbled by children with so much life waiting to be revealed and by the joy of their success. I was humbled to be part of it. Days like today are a gift, an opportunity to expand vision and gather hope. The chance to connect through the veil of autism happens rarely and always feels like magic. Aaron and I may never see eye-to-eye again. Next time, he might lose it and throw string cheese across the room. But maybe he won't.

I can't wait to find out.