He is different.

I am taking Anne's request to declare my child with Down syndrome as different quite literally by blogging about it. I am joining her by saying, "Ryan is different and different is good."

It is easy to say this today because I feel inspired by her post and the eloquent way her words flow, but she and I have spent hours having conversations about Down syndrome, difference and our struggle with it. She and I didn't arrive at our present level of acceptance overnight that's for sure.

Just last week I shared a decision I made with her, a decision that has taken me days to put behind me as a good one.

In early September our church started a music program for pre-school age children. It is called The Music Club and it meets once a week. The goal is to introduce basic music principles to children in a fun environment. I was excited about the program and took Ryan while Lilly was at school last week. When we entered the choir room my heart immediately sank. My first thought was, "Oh, not these kids, not all these smart kids." There were two families represented in the classroom. The father in the first family teaches at Furman. I didn't know the second family, but the boy was telling the group everything he knows about volcanoes and let me tell you, he knows a lot for a five year old.

Ryan and I took our place on the carpet squares and the class continued with a welcome song. Ryan then started telling everyone over and over his name, saying "Me, Ryan." If you think about it, this was very appropriate. He just wanted to introduce himself to the group, but the kid sitting next to him looked at me and asked, "Why does he keep saying that over and over?" I explained the best I could, but found myself irritated with this little kid, especially after he told me that Ryan was too young for the class.

Irritated, frustrated, intimidated. I guess I was all of those things, but I can say for sure that I didn't want to be there. I wasn't having a good time and I was having and even harder time pretending that I was enjoying myself. The songs and the games were too sophisticated for Ryan. If I hadn't stayed for the group to help Ryan stay on task, he would not have been able to follow the program.

I also want you to know that I was not embarrassed by Ryan, not in the least. I have admitted that he has embarrassed me here before, but that day I felt more like a mother hen wanting to protect her chick. I wanted to hold him close and keep him safe within the confines of our world. I wanted to shelter him from his differences and shelter myself, too.

I thought about this on the drive home. I thought about our world vs. their world. Our world is where disability is the norm and where small achievements are celebrated and heralded. Their world is where disability is different, but not necessarily in a good way. I doubt there is a single parent with typically developing children that would trade one of their children for Ryan. (I am not trying to make their world out to be a dark, ugly place either. Their world is full of good, loving people. It's just a different perspective and I can't fault them for that.) I wasn't feeling pity, on the contrary, it was one of those it-is-what-it-is moments.

I didn't take Ryan back to The Music Club. Did I wimp out? Was I selfish? Maybe, but a music program at St. James isn't going to make or break my child. I didn't ruin his life and all chance of becoming a music virtuoso by not going back. I simply made mine a little easier. I reduced my stress and I took myself out of a situation that didn't make me feel good.

I have accepted "it-is-what-it is", some may even say I have embraced it, that I don't want more and that I don't want the challenge of tackling "their world." That's not it at all. It is about what Rourk and I think is best for Ryan, what we think is best for Lilly. It is about what we think is best for our family, our marriage and our life.