Something to share

I have been playing volleyball these last several months on Tuesdays and Fridays and sometimes even on Wednesdays.  I wish I could say that I was an essential part of a team or that I was even good.  But, they let me play and that is enough for me.  One recent Friday my children were home from school and I hauled them to the church building where I play volleyball.  Archer watched the game, Ridge ran with friends and Emma was interacting with three little girls her age.  I watched from the corner of my eye how Emma fit.  I watched to see if Emma was included or tolerated or teased all while trying to play (see, not a very good player).  I noticed the girls try to ditch Emma but she would call them back and they would come.  On a break between games, I happened to be close to all the girls and took the opportunity to explain a little bit about Emma.  I told these girls that Emma really would like to play but sometimes she says no instead of yes and she loves to play tag.  "She keeps telling us 'go away'" they explained.  I, without crying, explained that Emma's brain doesn't work the way she would like it to and she can't always get out the right words.  This opened the door to questions about why doesn't her brain work and what happened to her.  I just explained that she was born this way and that she loves to do all the things they do but it just takes her a little bit more time.  Everybody was satisfied with the explanation and resumed play.  I returned to the court and told the moms there may be questions later about how brains are different.  "It's all good."  was their reply.  I wanted to jump and scream and cheer myself on.  I just advocated to my daughters peers, I just made it through fighting for her to interact successfully without crying.  It was a big deal and there wasn't one person in that room that knew me enough to congratulate me.  That was incredible.  Not one person knew my struggle or how far I had come.  I am not defined by my daughter's differences or the journey that I am on.  I may be defined by my big feet or terrible volleyball skills on that court but not by Emma's differences.  Wow!  And you better believe that I called my mom and we celebrated with happy tears the progress of Emma's mom in accepting and reveling in the journey.