Paper Airplanes

When I first came to Cincinnati, Master and T introduced me to L. They told me that he needed a friend, and they wondered if I would be willing to join them and a few others who were friends of his. L, was 60 years old, and he had significant developmental disabilities. He'd spent his whole life in institutions and had only moved to a nursing facility in Cincinnati a few months before I'd arrived. I have to admit I was a little intimidated and skeptical -- I really couldn't imagine what being "friends" with this man would involve, but I agreed to go along.

That's how one of the more remarkable stories of my life started.

As it turned out, being friends with L was like being friends with pretty much anyone else -- we spent time together doing things we both enjoyed. He liked music, and he loved having his back rubbed, and he liked dogs and cats and children and laughing. He loved a party -- in that way, he was different than me (a lot more social), but I soon discovered that, except for that, he and I weren't all that different after all.

One Friday fall afternoon, not long after I'd met him, near the end of a busy school week, I asked my class of 6th grade students if they would like to make some birthday cards for him because I knew I'd be going to visit him that weekend. I told them just a little bit about him, and they were happy to spend a quiet 15 or 20 minutes at the end of the schoolday coloring cards for my friend. A few of them asked if they could make him some paper airplanes, and I told them I thought that would be great. I took their cards and their paper planes and decorated his room at the nursing home -- and took some pictures back to school with me the following week.

The kids were thrilled and intrigued. They immediately wanted to know when they could meet L. I was stunned. It had never occured to me that my 6th graders would want to meet this wizened, old, toothless, Jewish guy with developmental disabilities -- but they did. The school had stairs everywhere and L used a wheelchair for mobility. It seemed impossible. I explained, but they were having none of it. They kept after me -- for months.

Finally, at Valentine's Day, we brought my friend to school for our party. He arrived at recess time, and no rock star ever received such a reception. The children literally flew across the playground to surround his van, shouting his name. We ushered him into the only ground floor space we had, and the kids gathered around him, they sang to him, they laughed with him, they shared juice boxes and ice cream. They all had a grand time. Then, the most amazing thing happened... L, who was, by all reports "non-verbal," and who functioned at the level of about a two-year-old, looked around the circle of kids, and grinned widely and began to count -- "one, two, A WHOLE BUNCH!" The kids whooped, and burst into applause, while we adults all stood open mouthed in absolute wonder! It was simply magical.

From that day on, the kids were his and he was theirs. The story of L and the kids had great power, and they truly changed the world that year. More importantly, they became great friends.

"The Kids" grew and moved on, and L got older. He enriched my life in many ways as the years passed and we spent time together.

Then last summer, L had a stroke. The laughter and the music stopped and the sparkle left his eyes. It has been a difficult few months as L has struggled in and out of the hospital. In the last few weeks, we have known that L would soon no longer have the strength to go on, and that we would have to say our goodbyes.

This morning, at about 12:20, he died. I got word, at school at just a little after 10:00. I was sad, certainly, but not completely surprised, and I knew I could go on, but I wanted to honor his place in my life.

So, I took a deep breath and I told my kids that we could do one of two things: we could have the regular math lesson I'd planned, or I could tell them the story of my good friend who had died early this morning. I told them I was a little sad, but that he was very special and that I thought they might like to know about him, and that I wondered what they would like to do. They chose the story (of course -- duh!). So, I told my NEW kids the story of L, and his life and the paper airplanes and the Valentine's Day party and how really special he'd been in my life. They were sweet and listened and that was that. I used it to (I hoped) tell them to be careful about using hurtful labels (like "retard"), and to be open to friendships however unexpected. And that was that.

Then lunch and recess came around. Today we were not able to go out for recess (long story). When I got back to my room after I'd eaten, I was met by a delegation of kiddos bearing armloads of brightly colored paper airplanes... all decorated with messages for L. They handed them to me saying that they thought that he might like them...

Awwwwww...

One, two, A WHOLE BUNCH -- AND NOW A FEW MORE!

I'm sure he would like them a whole lot!

swan