My social media community mostly consists special needs families and Ms. Streep’s speech struck a chord with many of us.

Since November, when the president elect Donald Trump mocked reporter Serge Kovaleski, I have been unable to articulate the gut wrenching emotion that footage had on me and my husband.

Our son was born with Smith-Magenis syndrome.

When Garrett gets excited, his hands flap in a stimming sort of way.

He will clap, flap his arms and run his hands over his lips.

It has been his way of communicating for so long that these mannerisms are a part of his personality, as much as his sense of humor and his ability to remember minute details of every conversation.

When Garrett was younger, I worried that his classmates would make fun of these gestures.

I volunteered one week at school to assist our PTA leader with an inclusion awareness program.

I spoke to my other two sons’ classes about Smith-Magenis syndrome and explained why Garrett acted so differently from his brothers.

And, much to my relief, the teachers and students of our local district have accepted Garrett and his fellow special needs classmates.

Even in my wildest dreams, I could not imagine that during Garrett’s senior year of high school the despicable behavior I feared most would play out on a stage in South Carolina.

And that it would be performed by the future leader of my country.

Or that the most upsetting aspect of this event would be the propaganda that followed it. Claims that what I witnessed with my own eyes was just the bully’s mannerisms or that the footage had been doctored to incriminate him.

And this propaganda would be disseminated by religious leaders.

And believed by my family and friends.

Even a few of my fellow special needs parents.

So when an actress has the world’s attention and uses her platform to articulate so beautifully the reaction I felt back in November, I am going to acknowledge her bravery and express my gratitude.

And, unfortunately, wait for the backlash.  Only now, I’m a little bit stronger.

Part of her speech:

“There was one performance this year that stunned me. It sank its hooks in my heart, not because it was good.

There was nothing good about it. But it was effective, and it did its job.

It made its intended audience laugh and show their teeth.

It was that moment when the person asking to sit in the most respected seat in our country imitated a disabled reporter, someone he outranked in privilege, power and the capacity to fight back.

It broke my heart when I saw it, but I still can’t get it out of my head because it wasn’t in a movie.

It was real life.

And this instinct to humiliate, when it’s modeled by someone in the public platform, by someone powerful, it filters down into everybody’s life because it kind of gives permission for other people to do the same thing.

Disrespect invites disrespect.

Violence incites violence.

When the powerful use their position to bully others, we all lose.”

SMS, a rare syndrome caused by a deletion or mutation on section p11.2 of the 17th chromosome, causes many behavioral abnormalities that can be extremely stressful for the families affected by this condition.

November is the designated Smith-Magenis Syndrome Awareness Month, with SMS Day being celebrated around the world on the seventeenth.

“A lot of focus is given to strategies that will help our families cope with the challenging behavioral difficulties of SMS,” PRISMS executive director Emily Fields explains, “but we also want to recognize the many positive attributes people with Smith-Magenis syndrome bring to our communities.”

Those SMS Superpowers are the ability to love everyone, performing without sleep and beginning each day anew.

However Jackie, 25 and born with Smith-Magenis syndrome, is not sporting her super hero shirt just for awareness.

She has a unique connection to the Justice League.

“I know Batman,” Jackie mentions nonchalantly.

“You know, Ben Affleck. He was at my gym. We worked out together.”

In 2014, Ben Affleck was in Jackie’s hometown for filming of the psychological thriller, “Gone Girl.”

During that time, he began preparing for his next role as the crime-fighting billionaire Bruce Wayne.

And he needed a place to work out.

He found that place at the medically integrated facility, Fitness Plus. It is part of the Saint Francis Medical Center where Jackie’s mom, Bernadette Huston is employed.

Fitness Plus boasts the area’s largest indoor track and four different pools available for all types of water exercise.

“It’s a great facility,” Bernadette explains. “It’s open for employees and patients of the hospital, but also membership is available to the public. So, we have people of all different abilities working out together in the same space.”

And that is how two superheroes, one with Smith-Magenis syndrome and one with an Academy Award, met in a weight room.

Not that Jackie is all that star struck.

“He was just really nice.”

After another moment she adds, “And cute!”

For more information visit Prisms.org

One thing the entire world seems to agree on is that the mother of the four-year-old boy should be publicly shamed, sued…maybe even stoned…because she, “let”, him climb through the barrier and fall into that moat.

I don’t know if the father was there, but we know she was because her voice is on the video; comforting her son and telling him that he will be okay. 

It seems; at least from the opinion of the Armchair Zoologists, that her voice was only agitating Harambe. 

Although I have never met her, I know who she is. On another day, she would have been me.

My oldest son, Garrett, was born with Smith-Magenis syndrome (SMS).

He has a long list of developmental disabilities: low muscle tone, intellectual disabilities and self-injurious behaviors.

And he has gotten away from me.  In public places and at home. More than once and for long periods of time.

When he was seven years old, Garrett got out of bed in the middle of the night, opened our front door and left.

Although Garrett was not in any danger of Western lowland silverback gorillas, our area has a high number of coyotes.

We can hear them from our house at night.

Luckily, our neighbor leaves for work at this time and brought Garrett home.

My husband and I were terrified that Garrett would try to get out of the house again.

We needed an alarm system, but it would take us a long time to save for one.

A few days later, our minister informed us that someone from our church had donated the cost of the installation and the first three months of coverage.

That alarm saved Garrett a total of three times.

It wasn’t only while I was sleeping that I failed to protect my son. The day he jumped out of a second story window I was in the kitchen.

I thought he was watching television in the next room until I heard him land on the concrete sidewalk.

That accident ended with one ambulance ride and eleven stitches.

And he was missing for twenty minutes at the Children’s Museum. We stood outside the play house door, not realizing that there was a second exit until he was long gone.

I don’t know the child from the zoo, but I assume that he is a typical four-year-old.

I have two other boys and I have failed them as well. It’s not just the extra vigilance of a special needs child that is impossible to monitor every single second of the day.

The outrage is because a beautiful, endangered gorilla has been killed but the mother brought her children to see these animals. Surely she cares about Harambe, too.

And I imagine she blames herself.

But, I cannot imagine how she feels knowing that the entire world blames her as well.

Although I have never met her, I know who she is. On another day, she would have been me.

Dr. Elsea’s lab evaluated mice that were born with the same rare syndrome as my son.

Smith-Magenis Syndrome (SMS) is caused by a deletion of genes within the 17th chromosome.

In some cases, one single gene is mutated.

I had met other people with SMS and witnessed the similarities: facial features that include a flattened mid-face with wide set eyes, behaviors like explosive outbursts and self injury, and a severe sleep disturbance that causes nighttime awakenings and daytime napping.

But, what would SMS look like in the mouse world?

“Do you think the SMS mouse is sneaking into his sister’s nest at 2am and taking her video games?” I asked my husband.

“Or maybe, he has a little mouse meltdown when the momma mouse turns off his Barney video.”

Apparently, my husband did not find my questions nearly as amusing as I did. He tried to shush me, but I was on a roll.

“Do you think the SMS mouse slaps his head with his mouse paws when the momma mouse fires up the blender for a much needed Adult Mouse Beverage?” He gave me a dirty look. “Don’t judge. She has a whole litter of babies and one of them has SMS!”

When Dr. Elsea began her presentation, I learned that her lab found many similarities between the SMS mice and the human SMS population.

Features: The SMS mouse had a shorter snout when compared to his siblings.

Weight Gain: They found that the mice born with SMS had more body fat and higher cholesterol levels when compared to their siblings.

Obesity is a common problem in the SMS population.

Sleep: The SMS mice had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep.

Behavior: SMS mice were not slapping their heads or crying over T.V. shows, but the researchers had a way to test for dominance. They placed two mice inside opposite ends of a plastic tube.

A SMS mouse would face a typical mouse and the researchers would wait to see which mouse forced the other one to walk backwards. Apparently, mice do not like walking backwards.

(I have noticed that mice run in panicked circles when I’m standing on a kitchen chair and screaming, “There’s a mouse! There’s a mouse!”)

Dr. Elsea shared with the group that not a single SMS mouse went backwards in this experiment. That’s so like our stubborn kids and she got a loud round of applause from the parents in the audience.

As she went on, I found some of the material a little heartbreaking.

Pain Tolerance: The researchers placed all the mice on a hot plate and slowly turned up the heat. The typical mice jumped off the plate before they were burned; however, the SMS mice did not.

My son has a very high pain tolerance. It seems like a blessing (because who wants to feel pain?), but pain is what keeps children from hurting themselves.

Garrett has picked his skin, torn off a fingernail and burned his hand on the stove. It makes sense that the same thing would happen with the SMS mouse.

Still, as a mom, I found it a little sobering.

But, when Dr. Sarah Elsea got to the final piece, it completely changed the way I viewed my son’s disability.

Star Gazing Seizures: Dr. Elsea played video footage of a SMS mouse running around in its cage when suddenly; he was startled by someone knocking on the glass.

I saw the mouse stop in mid-motion, look up and freeze for 3 or 4 seconds. Dr. Elsea called it a star gazing seizure.

I was out of mouse jokes.

Instead, my mind played back the times Garrett cried when I fired up the blender… or when the church organ began to play… or when the lawn mower roared by the window. We called it Freaking Out.

Certain sounds, not necessarily loud sounds, would also cause Garrett to Freak Out: sounds like Velcro straps ripping, the fizzing noise from a soda can or water being squeezed out of a cloth.

Garrett just stopped whatever he was doing… stood straight up…tilted his head back and screamed at the top of his lungs. His arms would flail out; either hitting himself or people/objects around him.

In the daily tasks of parenting a SMS child, I am constantly trying to stop him from hitting other people, hurting himself or breaking everything around him.

Garrett’s “fight or flight” response spikes and my “keep-things-calm-at-all-costs” reaction takes over. I often write about those days.

I talk about how hard it is to parent a child with Smith-Magenis syndrome. And it is.

But I don’t spend time thinking about how these explosions must feel for Garrett and I was shaken by the photo of a “star gazing” mouse projected on the screen.

I can only imagine that these genetically driven behaviors which start at the most basic, cellular level must be ten times harder for him than it is for me.

My heart filled with empathy for my son.

It was a life changing lesson, delivered by a mouse.

It looked like a partying kind of acronym. Not scary at all.

A few years later, the pediatrician escorted my husband and me into the “Disney Room” at his office complex. Naturally, I assumed we were invited to a party. Until he handed us the worst party favor, ever….our son’s genetic test results.

This time, the SMS was short for “Smith-Magenis Syndrome.”

There was no confetti. You were the scariest acronym I ever saw. I would never dance again.

At first, I didn’t want anyone to know about you. You were not going to define us. And it worked so well that you had to rear your ugly head.

You showed yourself in his walk: a strange, wide gait.

You showed yourself in his speech delay: he talked with his hands. You showed yourself in his low muscle tone: he could not color or use scissors.

But most blatantly, you showed yourself in his behaviors. And we could not hide. Not even a little bit. Who could miss the little boy slapping his head and biting his hands?

Even after all of that, you would not let him feel relief. Nope.

You had to take it up a notch. He hit me. He hit his brothers. He hit strangers.

He threw his toys. Or his sippy cup. Or his shoes. He screamed. He slammed his head into any hard surface he could reach: the side of his stroller, the floor, the wall. You were in total control. I had none.

Worse yet, my little boy had no control.

So we had to reach out. To professionals: therapists, doctors and specialists. To educators: administrators, teachers and aides. To other families: special needs groups in our town and the international SMS support group, PRISMS.

Soon, I started rubbing elbows with the famous SMS names, like Dr. Elsea, the discoverer of the gene that causes SMS by mutation or deletion.

And I got to meet the researchers named Smith AND Magenis. In person! And they were kind. And they were caring. And listening to what I had to say.

When Dr. Magenis passed away last year, my husband and I truly felt as if we had lost a member of our family.

That’s just how much we love these researchers. And I will admit, I brag to my friends about how I know these amazing people. Like a groupie hanging onto the bumper of a tour bus, I drop their names: Ann Smith, Ellen Magenis and Sarah Elsea. That’s right. They are women!

I love that the doctors in control of your story are also mothers.

Somehow, that makes me feel stronger. And I am stronger when I talk to the mom who helped establish our support group PRISMS, the SMS moms who serve on the Board of Directors and the women on the Professional Advisory Board.

And I am stronger because of the women who organize the bi-annual PRISMS International Conference and the moms who present sessions; actual SMS lifelines that have guided me through my son’s first 15 years.

And our entire SMS community is stronger thanks to the moms who volunteer as Regional Representatives, contribute to the SMS Journal, “The Spectrum”, or raise SMS awareness in their hometown.

Thanks to you, I have a sisterhood that few others get to experience.

This SMS Sisterhood does define me.

I no longer try to hide you.

The SMS Sisterhood is where I found my control.

Thank you for leading me to them.

I can finally dance again.

Sincerely, Tina McGrevy

For more information about PRISMS, the support network for Smith Magenis Syndrome visit http://www.prisms.org/

Patrick, my middle school child, sat in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and drinking his French Cappuccino.

I was perusing Facebook, making sure that I had not missed anything newsworthy overnight, like a funny cat video. Ouch. It was not a funny cat video.

The latest title from Ellen Seidman’s “Love That Max” blog caught my eye: “Let’s have special ed students do the football team’s laundry. Wait, what?!”

Maybe this is not going where I think it is…

I read the first paragraph: “Sometimes, you read or hear about something done to a child with special needs and all you can think is, How is it possible anyone could think that’s OK?” Yeah. That’s where it’s going…

“Do you know if Mrs. Locke’s class still washes the basketball teams’ uniforms?” I asked Patrick.

“I guess so, why?” Patrick asked. When Garrett was a student in Mrs. Locke’s special ed classroom, he washed the boys and the girls basketball team uniforms….

…and I thought it was OK.

Ellen’s blog was a response to another mom’s story. Maybe it was Ellen’s opinion and no one would agree with her.

I glanced through her followers’ comments and words like “menial labor” and “subservient” were repeated. Thirty comments and only one mother defended the idea.

“I was just reading about other special needs moms who do not think it is appropriate for kids like Garrett to be washing the athletes’ uniforms,” I told Patrick.

“Isn’t that the kind of job he’s going to have someday? Besides, he loves to help people.”

“I think they are bothered by the fact that your class doesn’t have to wash the laundry.”

“Well, my class doesn’t get to go horseback riding!” It’s true. Patrick’s class does not leave the building to go to hippotherapy.

Patrick’s class does not have aides or a sensory corner. And Patrick’s class does not do the laundry for the basketball (or football!) team.

Maybe it’s just me.

Have other parents complained at our school?

I reached out to Katie Locke who still teaches the class Garrett attended in middle school. “I feel like a lot of what goes on in my classroom is because I have parent backing,” she said.

“My students enjoy and take pride in doing the laundry, as well as other life skills. My students probably learn more from me of these skills than the extended standards.”

Katie explained that the team brought the uniforms to the laundry room (in a basket!) after the games; and her students went there to wash and dry them.

“This also taught the students some independence,” she said.

“The students loved leaving the classroom, even if it’s just down the hallway, to check on the laundry.”

I asked her about the argument that doing laundry was not teaching academic skills.

“We were most definitely using math skills,” she responded.

“The boys’ coach liked the uniforms stacked in a certain order and then laid out by numbers. The girls’ coach wanted the uniforms hung in the locker, which required the students to match the uniform numbers to the correct locker. The class also washed the towels from the kitchen and would return them folded and ready to go.”

The year Garrett was in middle school, his class was recognized at the last basketball pep rally

The team presented the class with school t-shirts and thanked them for a job well done.

“I was not at all offended or embarrassed for them,” Garrett’s bus driver, Heather Fosnaugh, recalled that pep rally. “My heart was full because they were happy and proud of themselves for doing their part and being part of the team.”

Below is a photo of Garrett’s middle school class wearing their shirts. My son is holding the pan of brownies and he appears to be quite proud of his place in that classroom.

I shared Ellen’s blog on Facebook. In it, she asked two questions:

1. “What message does it send to these kids that they’re cleaning their peers’ dirty clothes?”

Answer from Lisa Mariano, mother to a toddler son born with Smith-Magenis syndrome: “I think it totally depends on the kid. If it makes the kid happy and he feels good about himself, which I would think it would in most cases, then it’s great.

I suppose if there was a high functioning child, who perhaps wanted to but was unable to join as an athlete, it’s possible he could feel like it’s degrading.”

2. “What message does this send to the football team and the rest of the student body about them?”

Answer from Kristy Hamilton, mother to a teenage daughter born with Smith-Magenis Syndrome: “I know if my daughter was in charge of washing and preparing the uniforms, she would be over the moon.

It would also teach the typical peeps that special needs people are valuable and worthy. These typical peers are the future and are the potential business owners.

Who knows the seed this will plant in one of their heads? While Isabella is more like other kids than she is different, she is different.”

We live in a very small school district. It’s town where you go to school with the custodian’s children.

He is referred to as “Mr.” And if someone overheard you say his job was “menial labor”, your mom would know about it before you got home.

If asking my son to do these jobs is insulting, what message are we sending to ALL our students about the adults who do so for a living?

It has been three years since my son, now a sophomore, was washing team uniforms in middle school.

He does not attend high school games because the noise and crowds over stimulate his sensory issues.

However, his classmate Matt is an all around sports fan. I spoke to his mother, Lisa VanWey, about the laundry duty our boys shared in middle school.

“I am surprised by the backlash,” she told me. “I absolutely think that washing the teams’ laundry was a positive experience.

We can try to teach these life skills at home, but Matt is more motivated by his teacher and classmates. He loves to help people.”

Matt is a regular at most sporting events and Lisa believes that those friendships were made during the middle school years.

“I feel we can trust the football players. Sometimes on game day, the players will want to run to Subway after school. They will text me and ask if Matt can go with them.”

I spoke to one of those football players, Josh Strohl, and asked him what message he thought administrators were sending when Matt and Garrett’s class washed table tops and other custodial type duties around our school.

“What message do you mean?” he asked. “Do you, or the other guys on the team, think the kids in Matt’s classroom are your servants? “Um, NO!” He was insulted at the insinuation.

“Why? Because they have disabilities?”

“Well, that…but mostly because the kids in Matt’s class have washed other students’ dirty uniforms.”

“No. Matt likes to help. And not just bringing us water and stuff at the games. If we lose, he makes everyone on the bus feel better on the ride home.

He’s always in a good mood and you can tell he doesn’t want you to be sad.

Matt rides the football team’s bus to away games. He helps with water and whatever else is needed.

At the fall sports banquet, the football coach recognized Matt. He said that Matt started out as a manager, but ended the season as a team mate. It’s not just the football team that treats Matt as an equal.

This year, the basketball team voted Matt the most valuable player and presented him with a trophy.

So, what message have the parents, the teachers and the coaches sent to the athletes about our special needs children at Northeastern High School?

Franchise Photography captured that message in the photograph of Matt, aka Captain America.

The Smith-Magenis Syndrome Foundation UK is lead by a Board of Trustees, all of whom have a child born with SMS.

The trustees provide advice and support to families of people with SMS as well as arranging local meet ups and providing small grants to members.

Hazel Wotherspoon, of Falkirk, is the chairperson of the foundation.

“The SMS conference is the largest undertaking of the board,” Hazel explains.

“It is held every two years. The most important part for me is meeting with other families who are walking a very similar road and who have the greatest understanding of my life. I say ‘similar’ because all our children are different…yet the same. I love meeting new families and expanding my SMS family.”

At the conference, families will also hear presentations from different professionals about recent research and therapy opportunities.

Because Smith-Magenis syndrome is so rare, information can be difficult to come by.

In fact, most medical professionals have never even heard of SMS.

Because of this, the trustees offer literature and up to date research information for their members.

The foundation also engages with a professional board where they can direct members to professionals experienced with Smith-Magenis syndrome.

For the first time, the conference will run a third day to give the attendees a chance to recover from the hectic schedule of meetings and visit in a relaxed atmosphere.

A crèche service will be available and plans are being made to provide siblings with day trips during the long weekend.

For those staying at the venue, evening meals and entertainment will also be included.

“We usually have a Saturday night social,” Hazel describes. “It’s a time when we can really enjoy ourselves and watch our children enjoying themselves.

We know that any meltdown or SMS related problems will not be looked on askance.”

Hazel does point out a downside to the conference, though. “I usually feel a bit deflated and sad the day after conference finishes.”

For more information about the conference, visit the Smith-Magenis Foundation UK’s website: www.smith-magenis.co.uk

Companies or individuals interested in helping to fund the conference through one of the foundation’s sponsorship packages are asked to contact the trustees through [email protected]

My pregnancy and Garrett’s birth were not out of the ordinary.

Around the age of six months, Garrett failed to reach developmental milestones.

At nine months, our pediatrician referred him to a physical therapist, but I was not worried.

I just assumed that he had inherited my athletic prowess.

Around the same time, my friend Jill was growing concerned about her daughter, Leah. Leah was a year older than Garrett and she still was not talking.

She was also very tiny and not gaining much weight. Leah was Jill’s second daughter, so she didn’t have my blissful ignorance to hide behind.

One Sunday morning, we were catching up at church.

Leah had grown several inches, gained weight and was talking like a typical toddler.

“It’s been since her surgery,” Jill told me. “Once she had her tonsils and adenoids removed, she was like a different child.”

“We are taking Garrett to the Ear Nose and Throat specialist,” I informed my husband, Charlie.

We were both getting aggravated at Garrett’s repeated ear infections and our pediatrician’s lack of concern about it.

Garrett also was not sleeping. EVER!

It’s a classic symptom of SMS, but we were convinced he had sleep apnea.

I made an appointment with the ENT behind our pediatrician’s back.

He was adamant that we wait for Garrett to “outgrow” the ear infections, but the ENT agreed with me and Charlie.

We scheduled the surgery to have ear tubes (grommets) inserted and tonsils/adenoids removed.

Six weeks later, our new pediatrician diagnosed Garrett with Smith-Magenis syndrome.

“I really thought the chronic ear infections caused his delays.”

I keep repeating this to anyone who would listen. “Garrett took his first steps two days after the surgery.”

Very wobbly, and nothing like the first steps I would later witness with his brothers.

“He is eating better and not choking on his food.” Well, not as often. “He is sleeping better, too.”

But not as much as a toddler should have been sleeping.

For eighteen months, I was able to pretend his delays were “not that bad.” Even after the diagnosis, a part of me thought the test was wrong.

But, as Leah and the other kids at church grew, Garrett’s delays became more obvious. He didn’t speak until his was six years old.

He wore a diaper until he was in middle school. But, the hardest part was his loud, crying tantrums that would go on for hours.

He cried when the organ started playing. He cried when I read along with the prayers. He cried when everyone stood up.

He cried the whole entire service.

Fortunately for our family, Garrett was always accepted and invited to be a part of the activities: Christmas Pageant, Vacation Bible School, and Sunday School.

I have heard terribly sad stories from many of my SMS mom friends about how their children were asked to leave church until they could “learn to do better.”

We didn’t hear that from anyone…family or friends.

But, I could still feel myself pulling away from those I knew BD. It was just so much easier to be with other special needs families.

I felt more comfortable around them.

I felt more comfortable with people that I had just met than I did those lifelong friends from MY nursery school days.

I couldn’t understand it myself. No one said the wrong thing. No one did the wrong thing.

Their only crime was living the life I had imagined. When I was in their company, I was reminded of the dreams I once had for Garrett.

For my own sanity, I had to shut my curtains and create a world that was less painful.

For me.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Today, two girls from the middle school came down and asked if anyone in our class wanted to be in their talent show dance.

Garrett’s teacher sent a note home when he was in the 5th grade. Garrett said he wanted to, so I let him go to the gym with them and Connie.

Connie was Garrett’s aide and she could get him to do anything.

Anything.

Please sign the permission slip and return to school. “I don’t think this a good idea.”

I read the note to Charlie. “You know how Garrett cries over loud music. And the talent show doesn’t start until the evening. He’ll fall asleep backstage waiting for his turn. I can see him having a meltdown in front of the whole school.”

“Let him try it,” Charlie didn’t agree with me. “You know he’ll do anything for the ladies.” That was true.

Garrett was a typical pre-teen boy in some ways, especially when it came to girls.

And Connie had volunteered to stay with Garrett and his classmates backstage.

Waiting can be very difficult for Garrett.

“What size shirt does Garrett wear?” Jill called me out of the blue. “Why?” “Leah and her friend have asked Garrett’s class to be in the talent show. The rest is a surprise. Don’t ask me anything else.”

When the night finally arrived, I was a nervous wreck.

Connie met us at the school door so I could drop Garrett off and drive away. Just seeing me walk into “his” school can be enough to cause Garrett’s behaviors to escalate.

I did not want to take any chances. I waited in the packed gym without any idea of how Garrett was doing backstage. Their dance was the third or fourth act, which is an eternity in “Garrett Time.”

Finally, it was his turn.

The music started and it was loud. I held my breath. Made a wrong turn once or twice.

Pink’s voice filled the gymnasium. Mistreated. Garrett’s classmate, Matt, jumped out from behind the curtain on the left.

There was no doubt he was ready to dance!

Misplaced, misunderstood.

Garrett walked out from the right, behind his other classmate, Katie. Mistaken, always second guessing.

Leah stood next to him and started a slow clap. Garrett watched her and copied her moves.

Underestimated, look I’m still around. Underestimated. I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Underestimated.

Not only did I underestimate Garrett. I had underestimated Leah.

I had spent too much time in my own grief that I had not noticed how amazingly well Leah and the other children had accepted Garrett. Pretty, pretty please…

The group on stage moved their arms up and jumped completely around, in a coordinated move.

Don’t you ever, ever feel. Like you’re less than, less than perfect. It was the clean version. This was a family event, after all. Like you’re nothing.

You are perfect to me.

It was then that I noticed the shirts. Jill had bought blue t-shirts for Matt and Garrett. Katie, Leah and Leah’s friend, Jordin, were dressed in pink t-shirts.

All five shirts had the word PERFECT spelled out across, in bold white letters. You’re so mean, when you talk. Jordin spun Matt around in a vaguely familiar square dance move.

Leah took Garrett’s and Katie’s hands for a double spin.

I could not believe that Garrett was able to remember so many moves. About yourself.

Leah pointed at Katie and Garrett. Garrett pointed at himself and grinned like he was so proud. He absolutely loved being on that stage!

And I had considered making him miss this moment.

For fear he could not do it.

For fear of a meltdown.

For fear of being reminded…again…how different he was from his peers.

Those peers jumped and cheered when the song was over. A standing ovation. Garrett bowed. Several times.

Garrett was perfect.

As perfect as his four friends up on that stage…especially the two middle school girls who reminded me how sweet and wonderful these long awaited moments are if you don’t let them pass you by.