Lessons from Sam #5: We are more alike than different.

Parenting a child with different abilities has revealed to me my polar tendencies.

Sometimes I want our son to blend in with typical children, silently begging for people to see him as they would any typical child. Other days, I’m searching the internet for resources to help improve his skills, asking for more therapies, pushing for clarity from his specialists, calling state senators, or voting for politicians who will preserve current laws and pass new laws that support those with disabilities.

 

Some days I feel more relaxed about his future, believing that he’s gonna be okay. He’s got enough spunk and determination to handle life. He has a great support system that promises to help him navigate the complexities of adulthood. And he is fortunate to live during a time in history when so many people with Ds are thriving, finding meaningful work and relationships, building careers, attending college, and living independently.

Then there are days when the thought of my own death terrifies me. What other mother will care this deeply for Sam? Who will defend, support, and encourage him? Who will grab our world by the shoulders and shake it until it believes Sam to be worthy of life and opportunities?

I’m such a blend of angst and hope, fear and trust.

On the days when I’m more angst and fear, I think of my spirited friend Finn, who brings hope unaware. Finn, who was born 4 months before Sam, is a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed dumpling of a boy, full of mischief and wit. He is the son of our dear friends, Eric & Sarah. When he and Sam get together, Finn is quick to offer his toys, to show Sam how his new tractor works. Finn is kind even when Sam invades his personal space by chasing him for a hug.

 

 

Aside from sharing his toys and tolerating Sam’s abundant affection, Finn sweetly refers to Sam as “Same”. Despite his northern upbringing, Finn seems to have a more southern drawl, though I’m not convinced that this name choice is only a matter of enunciation. I think Finn may be on to something.

“Same”, he says. “Come play!”

Same.

As in “alike”.

As in “not so different after all.”

As in, “Hey, buddy. You’re my friend. You’ve got this extra chromosome but I don’t dwell on that. I see you as a kid who wants to play and laugh, just like me. Here’s a toy.”

I liken the connection between Finn & Sam to the relationship between Ron Hall, a wealthy art dealer, and Denver Moore, a homeless man. In their beautiful memoir, Same Kind of Different As Me, Hall & Denver share the story of their *unlikely* connection. Despite their skin color, their history, their social status, their strengths & weaknesses, they recognize their shared humanity and build a lasting friendship as a result. These poignant words from Moore speak to their bond:

“I used to spend a lotta time worryin’ that I was different from other people…

I worried that I was so different from them that we wadn’t ever gon’ have no kind a’ future.

But I found out everybody’s different – the same kind of different as me.

We’re all just regular folks walkin’ down the road God done set in front of us.

The truth about it is, whether we is rich or poor or somethin’ in between, this earth ain’t no final restin’ place.

So in a way, we is all…just workin’ our way toward home.”

 

I’m so thankful for our young, towheaded friend who is willing to walk this earth with Sam, who sees him as a ‘regular folk’, and who models the message that Sam brings to the world: we are more alike than different.