“Wow” he mouthed.  The tears filled his eyes and his face started to flush.  I thought for sure I’d see his tears drip down his cheeks.  I don’t know if he said the word, but if he did it was a barely audible whisper that drifted from his lips and hung in the air in front of his face.  The conversations in the room were happy, busy.  But at our table, in the few feet between us the silence was deafening.  “That’s really tough,” he stammered.  I looked at him calmly, carefully selecting my words.  “Sometimes it is very hard.”  I was surprised how tender my voice sounded.  “Wow”, he whispered again.

Honestly, even through all these years I never really quite know what to say when people stare at you.  When they look at you as something, as an it, or even when they perceive you as a burden.  I understand it though.  I just wish they spoke of you with a tone of dignity, that they saw you through a lens of compassion.  I wish they would see your beautiful humanity.  It’s not that I want them to not see your disability. It is part of who you are, in fact it is a central force that has shaped our family and my identity as a father.  I suppose in general, in life, it is always difficult to hear someone speak so callously about someone you love so much.

“OK guys, do you want lunch or donuts?”  I asked the two, as they swirled around their brother’s wheelchair, free from the stifling confines of mass.  They had made an announcement that it was Fellowship Sunday, and that there would be “donuts across the street.”  I should have known what the answer would be.  They are my children after all, and no matter how healthy Jennifer’s offerings are they are still a victim of their own genetics.  They are and ever shall be tainted with their sweet tooth’s inheritance.  As crossed the street, as Hope stated over and over that she “want[ed] donuts.”  We made our way up the accessible ramp and in through the side door into a conference room.  As we weaved our way around chairs and turned in halls we managed to stumble to the food table, where the two filled their plates with pretty much sugary carbs.  Cookies, crackers, Hershey Kisses, brownies, pastries and even apple juice.

We finally sat down at a corner table, half of which was already occupied by several elderly parishioners.  As we gathered chairs and sat down, I pulled William in close so he could be with us, in spirit if not in appetite for our after Church substitute meal.  The man across from us was quiet, even when his wife and some of her friends teased him.  He locked his gaze on William and sat for a long time.  Stuffing my face with “tastes” from Hope’s plate I watched him without speaking.  Finally he looked at me.  “He doesn’t move much does he?”  It was more of a statement than question.  After telling him no, he went on.  “Can he talk?”  “Does he feed himself?”  With every shake of my head or no from my lips, I could see the nails hammer into his heart, echoed into his face.  It was like every answer I gave him, literally pained his expression.  “He’s our big baby”, I offered with a weak, forced smile.

“Wow”, as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary includes “An exclamation, variously expressing aversion, surprise or admiration, sorrow or commiseration, or mere asseveration.”  Apparently the Scots say “vow” to underscore a statement, hypothesized to derive from the phrase “I vow.”  If that’s the case, then yes.  To the gentleman that never once introduced himself, despite all of us introducing ourselves, “wow” indeed.