March 29, 2010 @ 12:56 pm
Striving for Excellence
Strive, South Portland, ME (18)
It’s amazing how a song like “Cotton Eye Joe” can bring a group of people together. Honestly, I was not the first one out on the dance floor at the Harrison County Middle School dances. While I do strike a pretty mean “Funky Chicken,” I must admit, I wasn’t exactly known for my sweet moves. Regardless of my lack of coordination however, I was kicking my legs and swinging my arms as I jived with the young girls at Strive. I’m pretty sure I resembled the likes of Forrest Gump (no, I do not understand my recent obsession with Forrest Gump) when the “made-for-a-good-story Elvis Presley” teaches him how to dance. Nonetheless, we were having a fantastic time and I was quite certain I would soon be journeying down memory lane; working with young people always sparks my memory, and I was wondering just what would be in store for me today.
You see, the Strive Program was “designed to address the many issues faced by young adults with disabilities.” They focus on improving education, promoting leadership skills, work skills, and social skills to apply in various career opportunities, as well as the often complicated situations we experience in everyday life. Basically, my task at hand was to interact with these amazingly phenomenal people. I knew I would have fun, I knew I would hear stories full of heartache and desire as I myself was once 13 years of age, and I knew I would learn. I wasn’t exactly sure what bits of information I would take with me, but I was certain I would be smarter, wiser, possibly more prepared to rule the world.
I spent much of my time with a young lady named Amy. I loved that it was difficult to persuade her from her mother’s side as it was easy to relate to her subtle insecurities. To this day, it’s hard for me to stray too far from my mom. Few people understand this connection. It was really nice to meet someone who did.
Amy was absolutely as cute as a button; short bobbed hair, eyes that grew brighter with each story she told, and some of the sweetest expressions I’d ever seen. I wasn’t exactly sure with what issues she battled, but it took me no time at all to completely disregard her differences. We’d just begun our evening events with a game of “Operation” and Allie, Ashlee and Sybil would be joining our game. As we so diligently attempted to retrieve each body part, we quickly became accustomed to the haunting sound of the buzzer. As a child, is there anything worse than the sound of that buzzing noise during a competitive run at “Operation,” or the feeling of pure failure when our hiding place has just been revealed in an outside game of Hide-and-seek? I tell ya’, the ease of adolescence is somewhat difficult, yet tremendously exuberating to relive.
After we each dominated as temporary physicians, Air Hockey was calling our names. We talked about her love of cats and my love of dogs. Slightly ignoring the movement on the table with the sounds of the air becoming almost unnoticeable, we got caught up in our jibber jabber of ways to entertain our crazy four-legged companions, and soon after, with it being very clear that we were both disinterested in the monotony of the sliding puck, we sat together on the backs of the large sofas in the center of the recreation room. We talked about the love affair between Edward and Bella and questioned if they could ever truly be together, and our eyes filled with horror as we wondered if Harry would escape the hand of Lord Voldemort. I listened as she declared her love for Taylor Lautner and Justin Bieber, and I remembered my frequent childhood daydreams of Luke Perry, a.k.a Dylan McKay, and Mark-Paul Gosselaar, a.k.a Zack Morris. I thought of my time at Charley’s Roller Rink as a kid. With my new skates dressed in purple pompoms I’d just received for my birthday, I focused on moving my legs backward, perfecting my motions as Noochie and Jacob, my “cool boy” crushes looked on. I skated to the Air Hockey table, inserted my quarters and challenged my friend Elizabeth to a game that inevitably resulted in one of us owing the other a piece of sour lemon gum. My memories were vivid, and so very, very special.
With the smell of pizza still lingering in the air, I watched as each person slowly came out of his or her shell. In a slow motion sense of reality, I looked on as pool sticks moved from side to side, and as Foosball tables vibrated from anxious opponents. These kids were outstanding, reminding me of every other child you’d ever meet. They yearn to be liked and accepted, to have someone listen, to simply find a connection with another.
It’s easy to learn in circumstances such as these. The day wasn’t complicated nor was it full of technologically advanced toys. It was a day of simplicity; where good old fashioned fun allowed us to talk easily, laugh heavily and slowly make those connections to which I was referring earlier. It assured me that while this particular group of young people may aspire to different goals in the future, they absolutely have their sights set on the type of impression they want to make on this world. Whether it was to learn about finding their place in the workforce or meeting the loves of their lives, they’re working just as the rest of us; to decide where we fit in this great big world, and how we’ll contribute to its bettering.
Just before I left I met a boy named Collin. He was the big name around campus; good at pool, at foosball, great personality…you know the type. As I talked with him and his mom, I discovered his desire to begin high school as the possibility of a girlfriend finally becomes within reach. He already had his eye set on someone special, someone he really liked and someone who returned the feelings. He was ready to find work and he was ready to grow up. Seeing the determination in his eyes forced me to see myself in a different light. His willingness to succeed reminded me that should these kids be able to face this world confidently regardless of the difficulties with which they continuously encounter, I should be able to do the same. They have risen above the Down Syndrome, above the physical limitations and above the social stigmas to thrive in their communities. I was able to see this group of people for their bravery, their energy and their desire to take on this world.
Some of our greatest lessons, come in the youngest packages, and as Collin walked away I realized his messages were far beyond his age. As I make my way through this journey, hopefully I’ll continue to learn, and possibly, one day I’ll have the lessons to teach.
