Saturday, Paul’s team played basketball. He loves the game. He understands two things: shooting and defense. He’s not bad on defense. In practice, he never tires of shooting. Sometimes he’s aiming at the raised basket (fifty feet in the air), but he persists. At games, he runs full out and doesn’t seem to tire. He’s all heart. His teammates have learned as has his mother during practice, that he can to some degree, really play. It’s something that his coach saw, and developed over time. Sometimes his teammates don’t get him, and sometimes, he acts up in ways (like tipping all the chairs) that puzzle everyone. However, what they do know about him is, he roots for the team. They’re protective of him. What they and I learned this weekend is, we don’t have to be.
In this past game, one of his teammates got hurt –an accidental poke in the eye. Paul revealed his deep desire to protect them. Being the last minute of the game didn’t matter. He saw his teammate hurt, and he ran the court wagging a finger at the person who fouled, scolding him for having hurt his friend. Mercifully, the refs know Paul, and they told him everything was okay, but it provided a glimpse into the thinking feeling person that is Paul, that Down Syndrome sometimes makes harder to see. He isn’t a mascot, he’s part of the team and he loves his team. His team won, and his siblings celebrated with “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
On Sunday, we watched the Superbowl and everyone picked who they hoped would win. Paul wanted the Rams and spent the first quarter illustrating his team. He cheered hard and (sad to say this), like his mother when she watches the Irish, got agitated every time his team didn’t play perfectly. Again, he illustrated both his intense loyalty and his beyond surface understanding of the game. Mercifully, his team won. He illustrated a picture of the MVP.
We’re used to drawings we need to struggle to discern, but not this time. It was clean, clear, and accurate. We knew who it was, we knew who he wanted to win, and I had to think, maybe I should get him a Cooper Kupp LA Rams or Superbowl jersey. As we marveled at his drawing, I sat there thinking, sometimes the miracle is visible from space. Sometimes it can be right in front of us without our seeing. I thought of the apostles, who spent all that time with Jesus not getting it…and understood how it could happen. We train ourselves to not see, and thus do not see. The miracles of life happen constantly, it’s just we stop looking, stop seeing, stop being willing to notice.
Fortunately, Paul’s good at reopening the eyes, not just of me, but of those around us. Think I will get him that jersey.
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