By Robert Zenuch

Reprinted from The Brimstone Bulletin with the Author's permission. 

I walked through Safeway with my sons, shopping for our weekend meals and snacks. As I walk down the aisles I watch my boys carefully and maybe, a little too much so. They have needs that are exceptional and they struggle to find their place in a world that is confusing and sometimes, not welcoming to persons who don't fit into the norm. I struggle from day to day about how much I want to hold on and protect them and then, how much I need to let go and allow them to develop their own independent strengths in our community. I'm sure that all parents flip-flop back and forth between holding on and letting go. Those of us with children who have special needs....... We anguish just a little bit more.

My third son has a kind of autism (Asperger's Syndrome) which helps him to respond to the world in an innocent and uniquely spiritual way. He senses special things in places and objects that we, the regular folk, take for granted and, sometimes miss all together.

Occasionally he recognizes people by smell and he'll tell you that he likes you for that. He hugs me constantly. From anyone else I would be upset but, when Kevin tells me that he loves to hug me right at my "soft belly", I know that he intends to make me feel very special as he holds his head against my stomach with his arms wrapped around me. I recognize that extraordinary true kindness about him. It's one of his formidable traits. So, instead of being hurt or offended, I've learned to love all parts of me through the eyes of my eleven year old son. He reteaches me the innocence and wonderment of childhood that I lost long ago. I respect and love his differences. I'm afraid when the world doesn't.

Today, I was looking for fresh fruit and vegetables. Across several isles of the produce department was Kevin. He was having an animated conversation with the Portobelo mushrooms. He becomes attached to different ideas and things for an extended period of time. In the last few months, mushrooms...their shapes and sizes, their underlying structure and smell have been a fascination for him. He buys mushrooms with his allowance and keeps them in a special place in his room until there's a time that we have to release them back to nature. In the meantime, they are the best loved mushrooms in the universe and anyone who knows Kevin, may learn to see them from a unique perspective. And, we may never know mushrooms in the same way again.

I watched him for a few moments. He was smiling and telling the mushrooms that he was broke. He would come take them home when he received his allowance. I wished at that moment that I could love everything just as Kevin does. I envy his attachment to people and animals and to the wonderful things that are a part of everything this life has to offer all of us.

Most people walked by him and smiled. Some folks watched momentarily. One elderly lady stood with her eyes open wide and listened intently. I could see her beginning to know what Kevin knew about mushrooms. She was discreet as she observed him. Our eyes made contact as she walked away. There was a softness and a knowing in the way our eyes met. Kevin began to tell me about the mushrooms. The old woman looked back with envy. Kevin saw friends in mushrooms. I saw a boy I loved. The old woman recognized an angel in the produce aisle in Safeway.

You walked by with your brood of kids and giggled along with them as you watched Kevin. I shot a look at you that made you stop dead in your tracks. I moved along with Kevin and avoided eye contact with you again for fear that all my concerns about Kevin and my protective feelings for him would spill over into an unpleasant conversation. It would have served no good purpose. So we went on about our business of shopping.

From aisle to aisle I wondered about the insensitivity of the world towards people with disabilities and differences. I promised myself that I would always look for the good in people and not the parts that were discouraging and hurtful. I tried to focus on all the good things that have happened in our lives. Your laughter at Kevin left me feeling unbalanced and hurt for him and me and everyone who has ever been hurt for their uniqueness. Eventually I was distracted enough by my children to keep shopping. There was a part of my heart that held on to the sadness as it does anytime that Kevin or anyone else is vulnerable to hurt.

As we loaded the groceries on the black belt at the check stand I continued to struggle with my feelings. Kevin wasn't even aware that someone had laughed at him. He fought with the other boys about who would put what on the conveyor belt. And then, I saw you only a few feet away looking at me. I decided to be calm and leave well enough alone. I continued to help the boys put the groceries on the conveyor belt as I struggled inside myself with the good and not so good in all of us.

There was a touch on my arm and it was you. You looked me in the eyes with sincerity and kindness and told me that you weren't really laughing at him. You said that you didn't mean any harm and that you liked working with people who were disabled. You apologized kindly for the misunderstanding. There was a shift inside me. I thanked you for your words as the emotions reached my chest. My balance was back and your words helped me to retrieve it.

I cried on the ride home just a little bit on the outside. I thanked you with my soul for your act of kindness to me as the father and caretaker of Kevin.

We put the groceries away. I'm writing you this letter that you may never receive. I think I'll buy Kevin some friendly mushrooms tomorrow.