"Meeting"

I met someone with Down Syndrome for the first time in my life (other than Ian, of course.) And it started off, as Bridget Jones so eloquently put it, "awkward as ass."

It was last night. Silvi and I were at our local park, she having run the entire three blocks there while I followed on my mid-life crutch, the new skateboard. (Jim, if you read this, you should be proud. I've actually used the thing three times so far.)

So there we were, Silvi dripping with sweat and me looking like I just survived a massive heart attack, when a young girl ran past me who obviously had Downs. She joined another group of kids running around a baseball diamond with their mother. A man, who I assumed was the little girl's father, stood off in the distance watching.

If you ever get to know me, you will know just how out of character my following actions were. The young girl with Downs left the group and went to join another girl shooting baskets. Nervous, I summed some courage by asking myself, "What would Barbara Walters do?" and then had Silvi go run with the kids while I approached the little girl's mother.

Me: "Umm, Hi, I'm Tom. Is that your daughter over there? I noticed that she might have, umm, Down Syndrome?"

Long pause.

Mother: "Uhhhh, I think he's a boy, and he just sort of started running with my kids. I'm not sure who he belongs to."

Another very long pause.

Me: "Oh. I thought it was someone I knew. I mean, well, my son was just born. My son is Down, has, Down Syndrome and....."

I trail off. She kicks the dirt. I excuse myself and call out to Silvi. I stand there, holding my skateboard, feeling much like George Bush must feel after giving a speech on foreign policy. Then I spot the little boy riding in the back of a bike trailer.

Forget Barbara Walters. I summon the strength of Larry King and call out to the father. "Excuse me! Hello!?"

He rode back to me. Close up, it's very evident that it is indeed a cute little boy, who immediately extends his hand for me to shake. He is four and tells me his name is O. (in case I befriend the parents and they stumble across this most awkward example of my ineptness.) The father is friendly and open, and Silvi and O. giggle with each other. After a few minutes of good conversation, Silvi and I head for home.

It is getting dark. As I skate toward home behind my sprinting little girl, I am happier than I've been in over a month.