Loud and Clear

This past Friday night, I helped out with Special Kids Night at my church. It's a once-a-month program where parents from all over the city who have children with special needs, can bring them to the church for up to four hours so they can have a night out or off. This was my first time to help with it, and I can't imagine a better way to spend the evening.

Before the kids got there, the lady who is in charge of the program gave us newbies a little orientation. It was pretty basic -- play with the kids, love them, and have fun. Not a bad deal. She also told us that many of the kids who come are non-communicative.

Here's the thing: she was wrong. After a hour of putting the ball in Kyle's lap and letting him push it on the floor and watching him quake and smile with excitement while sucking on his hand; after about forty-five minutes of walking around the gym, holding little Jacob and watching his head bob back-and-forth to "Row, Row, Row Your Boat;" after being doubled over because Paul was laughing so hard at me when I got accidentally hit with a ball while I was pushing him around the gym in his wheelchair; after Nathan spent about thirty minutes rubbing my hair (which I shave pretty short with clippers), I realized that actually the lady was wrong. They might be "non-communicative," but wow, I sure was hearing a lot.