"At first I was a little scared"

Cooper moved to the “big kid” class at church, away from the babies now. They start with all kids age three to eleven in the big room for "singing time." Then they move to a smaller classroom for a short lesson with kids their same age. His teachers, a married couple, are in charge of the three year olds. They sit on a small bench with their class. It's a small town. A small congregation. To my knowledge, Cooper’s the only one with a disability. The week before he'd joined them, I'd asked the married couple if they have any questions about Cooper, and tried my best to explain any extra needs he may have. They are kind and talk with us about Cooper's having Down syndrome like most anyone would, with proper social cordialness. The husband seems especially quiet. He feels like the type of guy that likes to get to the point with very little words and even less emotion.

Cooper's dad sits and watches from the back of the room on Cooper's first day in case they need help with him. He does not sit still, not used to being in this environment. He goes to the front, he comes to the back, he sits with the other three year olds on occasion, he sees his big sister and gravitates toward her. Dad sweats and hopes no one is bothered by Cooper's obvious inability to do what most the other kids are doing.

Today was Cooper's third week in this class and I got to sit in this time. I watched his regular shenanigans as he moved about the room. Everyone smiles at him. Some encourage him to sit, but mostly they just love him. I heard kids saying his name, "Hey, Cooper!" "Oh, that's Cooper." I watched as his teacher's pulled out toys they'd brought for him to try and keep him entertained, then as the husband in the teacher duo gently pulled Cooper out from behind the piano where Cooper had decided looked like a fun place to hide. I understood why Dad was sweaty. I don't want anyone to feel that his extra needs are bothersome, and I'm sure I'd feel this way even if he didn't have Down syndrome. But he does. It's not an invisible disability. As his parents, it's hard not to carry extra worry about how he and our family will be perceived. (IYKYK)

I couldn't help but feel my heart lift as I watched the interactions of Cooper's teachers and everyone around him, grateful for the ways they've accepted him and let him learn. I'm watching him bloom in front of my eyes, in a sort of slow moving picture. Not fast enough to be crazy noticeable, but not so slow that it's imperceptible, either. There's a real sense that his spirit is special, and I can really see that most when he has opportunities to be surrounded by people other than just his family or others close in our circle. For some reason, I worry that he'll be an annoyance. I worry his obvious differences will make him seem like less than. I guess I worry people will be mean. But the large majority of the time, they're not mean. They love him. They understand he may be a little different and are happy to help him.

Singing time ended and they moved to their smaller classroom for a short ten minute lesson. When it was over, I popped into the classroom to grab Cooper and wanted to thank the teachers. I thanked them for being so hands on with him and being patient. "I really appreciate it," I say, "I know sometimes he can be a little extra." I try to be collected as I say this. I genuinely feel appreciative of these people and want them to know that. I don't want my words to seem hollow.

"Oh, he's so much fun," the wife responded.

"Oh ya," the quiet husband chimed in, "I love having him in here." His words surprised me. I don't remember him saying much at all in previous conversations.

"I was a little scared at first," he went on, "but that went away." He smiled at me, and I stood for a second shocked at his words, totally caught off guard by his honesty and trying to think of what to say. A smile spread across my face, too, as I remembered how I felt when Cooper was born and we were told he had markers for Down syndrome.

"You know," I said, "I felt that same way when I first met him, too."

Today, I'm grateful for people that don't shy away from things that scare them.

I'm grateful for people who are willing to give my son a chance.