I feel so at peace when we have the playground to ourselves. I watch her climb stairs, alternating feet like it hasn’t been mere months since she was taking stairs one foot at a time. She shouts out words that are completely understood by her audience of one.
Then I see them across the field. She is small, toddling along as she straddles her balance bike. She has her dad at her side and I find myself thinking “Please keep going. Please don’t stop here at the playground. It’s so peaceful.”
Futile thoughts, because of course they are headed right here. And I gather my will for what inevitably comes next:
Girl (to C): This is my bike – you can have one too when you are three.
C: (wanders away)
Girl: How old is she?
Me: She’s actually older than 3. She’s 6.
Girl: (puzzled look)
C: Me and Mommy! (leaning on me)
Girl’s Dad: Is that Italian?
Me: No, her speech is quite delayed so it can be difficult to understand.
Girl’s Dad: Oh yeah, I was just asking because my daughter speaks some Italian.
Me: It’s funny you mention it because C has been saying ‘Mamma Mia’ lately. But that’s about the limit of her Italian.
C: Mamma Mia!
Then we have the usual awkward encounter that I assume to be common among most parents of children with disabilities, or at least it has been common for me. There is silence, then some small talk, while I watch his daughter work hard to get C’s attention and engage her. And C mostly ignores her.
That day I wasn’t up for the explanations and awkwardness. There are many days like that. But there are also days where some sort of playground magic happens and it’s all okay. Like today, when I found myself just letting it be. Just letting her roam up to parents and randomly say ‘me and mommy’ and letting them puzzle it out. Letting them make sense of her in whatever manner they like. Sitting quietly on the other side of the playground on a bench in the sunshine instead of hovering and explaining.
And then a boy comes over, let’s call him Elliot. We’ve met him before, and he is persistent. Determined that he will engage her and they will play. I assist with hide and seek. He shows her a ‘secret spot’. She follows. She stays with him. He wonders aloud if she likes him. I assure him she does. He says he will talk to her like he talks to babies because she can’t talk yet. And she’s SIX!!! Incredulous. His grandma gently reminds him that all kids are different. I do my spiel about different brains. His brain likes TV, hers doesn’t, for example.
He takes a photo of us on his very own camera. And asks for her phone number, and gives us both a hug. And proceeds to give her many more. She strokes him on the cheek. It’s a connection.
Playground magic.
