Most balls don't go, BOING! BOING! BOING!, do they?
But these do.
Especially when there's a six-year old astride one, driving it like a bucking bronco across a shiny gymnasium floor. Oh yeah, and there are twenty other six-year olds doing the exact same thing.
O! The boinging! The giggling! The squealing! The shouting!
This is why most elementary students love P.E. When else would things get this zany?
Their laughter bounced brightly off of every surface of the room. Their shiny squeaky energy reached us, even though we were sitting far away, just watching.
On the clock, I was okay with it. My new job, as a 1:1 assistant for a young student with special needs, brought with it a fast friendship. I enjoyed every minute of work at a school, but I was a grown-up after all. We are okay with sitting and watching kids wear themselves out.
Also, Anni's safety was all that mattered. Other kids could get band-aids and ice packs if they suffered a playground or P.E. mishap. I could not abide any bumps or bruises on my watch, so, I happily followed the directions to take her to P.E.. "She can watch the kids play." So that's what we did.
We also watched kids practice writing letters in shaving cream. We watched them paw through the contents of a substance table We watched them giggle together under a rainbow-colored parachute. We watched them bounce-race on red rubber hoppers.
And that's not all we did. We smelled the crisp, clean foam. We heard the rattle of beans and glass pebbles in plastic scooping cups. We noticed the undulating silk that all of her friends suddenly disappeared under. We sensed the completely contagious glee of bouncing boingers. Vicarious fun is still fun, right?
Caught up in the action, Anni started to bounce on my lap, her only sound the squeak of her rubber chewy as she chomped excitedly. That squeaking stopped for a second as she held the chewy aloft, pondered the merry little ball-riders for a moment, then stated emphatically,
" I want TO DOING it."
By then, MPS had taken her speech away, except for a few surprises. In the month I had known Anni, I had only heard her say "picklepicklepickle," which, I'm totally down with pickles, so that was cool... Nevertheless, I did most of the talking when we hung out.
Degenerative diseases make for constant changes and adjustments, but we had just met. Non-verbal Anni was all I knew before that moment. That moment she changed everything, which is just what she does.
Short-term impact:
We went to get a red ball for her as I proclaimed loftily, "THEN YOU SHALL TO DOING IT!"
The ball stayed mostly stable, wedged between my feet, while she bounced up and down. I clenched it like crazy and clutched her underarms, terrified that she might miss or fall or just cry because the whole thing was a terrible idea. Instead, she giggled and went boing for the rest of P.E.
Afterward, I was as red as a hopper, damp with sweat, and exuberant with triumph.
Long-term impact:
That feeling stayed. Those words stayed too. They came to mind every time she and I watched kids do something fun. Those words also made me a little mad at myself for being so cautious in the beginning. Of course she wanted to be a part of the fun! What kid doesn't want what all the other kids have?
Anni didn't have to say anything to me to convince me that she was fun and sweet, I could tell right away.
But, she did have to tell me to stop making her watch kids live the life she wanted to live. She did have to tell me to take chances, to be creative, to ask for things, to invent solutions, to work with colleagues, to expect special treatment for a special kid, to ask for it without apology.
Away from her, her words still ring in my head like a million giggles bouncing around a gym. Since then, there have been similar moments, sitting and watching, waiting and wanting to doing it. Her affirmation that spectating is insufficient, left its mark. Some of the chances I have taken are based on that lesson she taught me. With one sentence, one day, she changed everything.
That's just what she does.
