Summer time means vacations, visits to new places, meetings with strangers who may not understand your child’s special needs. In today’s post, guest blogger Scott Newport relates a chance vacation meeting between his then four-year-old son Evan and a little girl named Renee.

Broken Down Signs

 

Signs are all around us. Signs point the way. They tell us what we’re allowed to do. They tell us where we’re not allowed to go. They keep us from getting lost.

This is a story about signs—all kinds of signs.

The Story Begins

The story begins at the home of my folks, near the Lake Michigan shore. It’s not where I grew up, but it’s where my parents have decided to retire, and we’ve visited them often enough over the years that I guess it’s a bit of a “home away from home” for our family.

We used to visit quite often. These days, we don’t make it up there as often as we’d like; it hasn’t been easy to travel ever since our son Evan—now four years old—was born with a terminal heart disease called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and a variety of other complications brought about by a genetic condition called Noonan’s Syndrome.

Time for R & R

This year, the family—my wife Penni, our seven-year-old son Noah, Evan, and Evan’s nurse—traveled to Lake Michigan to visit my folks and get some much needed rest and relaxation.

One afternoon just a few days into our vacation, my sons and I walked to a large community swimming pool. Since it’d been a while for all of us, we weren’t exactly sure which roads led to the pool.

Noah said, “Hey Dad, I think we’re supposed to turn here.”

“The street sign looks like it’s been run down by a car,” I replied. “How do you know this is the right place, Son?”

“Just trust me, Dad.”

Well, he was right. The pool was just around the corner. That broken-down sign didn’t keep us from finding the pool…or from making a new friend that day, a little angel named Renee.

A Little Angel Named Renee

Actually, we met Renee’s dad first; my brother-in-law introduced us. He was about my age, probably six feet tall, wearing a T-shirt about Down Syndrome. As other parents around us sunbathed and caught up on the latest gossip, I told him that I had a child with a syndrome, too.

In truth, I’d already noticed Renee, though I didn’t know that was her name. She was hard to miss; even though there were close to 100 kids in the pool that day, she sparkled. I liked that about her.

Her dad called her over to us but she flew past, as if she had wings. “Renee,” he said again. “Come here, sweetie, I want you to meet someone.” Renee’s fine hair framed her face, which had typical Down Syndrome features. Her brown eyes glittered with life and intensity. When she spoke to her dad, her speech was a bit broken and monotone, though he didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding her. He introduced her to Evan and me.

“Hi Renee,” I said, as I got down on one knee. “Would you like to sing The Bumble Bee song with Evan and me?”

More Music, Please!

We all three sat down and I started singing the little tune. To my surprise, she jumped right in as though she had been rehearsing for weeks! As we sang, Evan—who doesn’t speak—let out an occasional happy squawk. When the song ended, Renee babbled excitedly. Because I had a hard time understanding her, I asked what she was trying to say. She amazed me by signing with her tiny fingers, “More.” My heart melted.

I signed back: “More music?”

She again signed with her fingers. This time she signed, “Please” by placing her hand over her heart and moving it in a circular motion. She was so precious.

More Signs to Come

Scott, Evan, and Renee didn’t have any trouble communicating with one another. But other people at the pool weren’t quite as adept at looking beyond the obvious, as Scott explains in Part 2 of Broken Down Signs. So come back on Friday for the rest of the story. You won’t want to miss it!

Until Friday

While you’re waiting for Friday to roll around, leave a comment for Scott if you like. Or type “Scott Newport” in the search box at the top of this page to find more of his guest posts.

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