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Everyday Miracles

My grandson and I have something in common:  We both love food!  We love working in the kitchen together, preparing and cooking our favorite dishes, and baking, too.  Fortunately, we’re into portion control and nutrition, about which he learns a great deal in school.  When nine-year-old Louis (“Louie”) comes to visit for Spring Vacation, a trip to the grocery store isn’t just a chore, it’s an adventure.  And so much more.

Recently the two of us sat at the kitchen table and made a list.  Louis read from the small chalkboard where we mark down items as needed.  He read off each entry- some were written by Poppy (me) and some by Grandma.  Maybe a few by Louis.  I copied them down on paper as he read.  Then Louis read the paper list as I washed each item off the board one by one.  A clean slate.

Next, on with the coats and hats, and into the car.  I backed out of the driveway onto Buttonball Trail and came to a complete stop at our corner.  “Oh my gosh, Louis, the sign says ‘STOP’, but there’s no sign that says ‘GO!’”  We sat motionless.  Then Louis came out with what I call a “Louism” (a capsule of conceptual wisdom).

“Poppy, sometimes we have to break the rules of the stop sign.”  We were off.

Our local Shop Rite is a busy place, especially on a Saturday morning.  We have a routine.  We got out of the car, and Louis checked that it was all clear.  He took my hand and walked me across the lane.  I went ahead into the store to get a circular while Louis pulled out a cart.

We love the fresh produce department.  Everything there is healthy.  On this particular trip we practiced pulling off the long plastic bags, reading which end to open, separating the folds, and finally flapping them to open up.  You don’t have to have Down syndrome to have difficulty opening those bags!  He dropped in the first navel orange and gently placed the next four.  Next, he got serious about choosing the bananas.

Louis finds the seafood counter especially fascinating.  Lobsters crawling in the tank, shrimp, crab, fish displayed on ice.  He read the list and said, “Grey sole please.”  Our dinner menu was already planned:  grilled sole, creamed potatoes, spinach and carrots, with chocolate pudding for dessert.  We talked about Crabby Jerry’s, the fresh-air restaurant his family goes to in Greenport, on the water.  He told me about the fish he and his Dad caught from their boat.

We continued on through the store.  Louis is proficient now at pushing the cart.  He follows the rules and is very courteous.  Sometimes I go ahead to the next aisle; he’s independent.  Today,  the aisles were crowded, but he managed to say excuse me, turned the cart around the corner, and caught up with me.  I observed that other children were following their parents who were pushing their carts.  I watched people watch Louis and how we interact.  It’s a good thing.  We’re setting an example.

We had a unique encounter on this latest shopping excursion.   We passed a table being set up as a sample tasting station.  I asked the clerk what was being featured.  “Lemonade,” she said.  Louis looked at her with a big irresistible smile and declared, “I love lemonade!”  “Wait a minute,” she said as she headed to the nearby frozen food section, and returned with a large bottle of organic lemonade.  “It’s not quite cold yet, but would you like some?”  Naturally, his answer was Yes.  As she poured a small sample, she asked how old he was.  “I’m nine.  I’m Louis.”  He stared at her name tag and said, “Thank you, Deb-or-ah.”  She poured him another glass.

She told me what a wonderful boy he was.  Her words didn’t speak of Down syndrome.  What she said next did. “We have a family member with Down syndrome, 13 years old, and she didn’t have an effective early intervention.”  Her parents were now at wit’s end.  She wondered if I might have some advice.

I commented that it’s not all about disability, that any parent of a teenager might be at the end of their rope.  I told her also that I was very much aware of what this family is living with.  I took one of the small white napkins and began a new list: GiGi’s Playhouse, Nancy Gianni, #GenerationG, my name, and other information.

I talked about the mission of GiGi’s Playhouse, and its link to words like individual, celebration, achievement, possibility – and free! 

We said goodbye.  Her expression was one of hope found.  She thanked us as she clasped the folded napkin with two hands.Louis and I were off to the bottled juice aisle.

Every day, we have the opportunity to make a difference.  We all have challenging circumstances to deal with.  We don’t know how the napkin will unfold.  But we trust and work together.  And sometimes we have to break the rules of the stop sign and go there.  This morning Deborah went outside the boundaries of her employee performance.  She took a risk and confided in a total stranger.

Louis likes the check-out counter, too.  He got in front of me and enthusiastically put all the items on the moving belt. The cashier asked if he would like a lollypop.  “Oh, no thanks,” he replied.  Both the cashier and the bagger paused briefly, taking notice that the kid with Down syndrome had a clear and mature voice, knew what he wanted or didn’t want, and had good manners.  They saw Louis.  None of this comes easy for my grandson, or his family.  He works hard at it, we all do.

The miracle?  The supermarket, as much as any GiGi’s location, became a Playhouse today.  The sample table became a couch.  As advocates, we are the source.  We carry the door to GiGi’s Playhouse with us.  We need to open it.

Richard Reilly

The Grandparent Connection