The Adventure

It’s a Sunday morning with the grandchildren in Brooklyn. Mom and Dad are off on a weekend in the Berkshires, so Marilee and I are babysitting Abby, 9, Maggie, 6, and Louis (pronounced Louie), 5. Maggie wants to practice riding her “new” bike, while Abby runs along beside. We go up to the pet store on 6th Avenue so that they can go in and hold the kittens; I watch the bike. On the way home we discover a street fair on Flatbush Avenue. The main attraction is a 25 foot climbing “tree”, equipped with counterbalancing pneumatics for rappelling back down. Abby excels, going all the way to the top. Maggie makes it half way up. They both enjoy the exhilarating ride to the ground. Next, we stop for a butterfly face painting for Maggie and a glittery arm tattoo for Abby. Soon we are back at the house.

Oh, the comfort of a cushioned chair, the Sunday paper and a fresh cup of coffee. Marilee is in the kitchen making lunch. I watch Louis and Abby roll around on the carpet. I feel bad that Louis didn’t get to go to the fair. As his grandfather, I can feel this way, although others who are not familiar with Down syndrome might assume that he wouldn’t know the difference anyway. How wrong they would be!

By 1 o’clock, I decide that the pb&j sandwiches don’t look so exciting. “Louis”, I say, “Want to go on an adventure?” With a big smile, for now it is his turn, he heads to the closet for his shoes and coat. His little hand in mine, we go out the door and down the brownstone steps.

We stand on the sidewalk at 6th Avenue and watch the kids climbing. We talk constantly, Louis and I. “Rope, foot, climb, right, left, top, bottom, up, down.” He is demonstrating to me how his vocabulary, diction and conceptual ability are increasing. Next year, when he’s a little taller and his muscle tone is even better, he will don the harness and climb, fall, and climb again. He will truly experience the adventure, the one of being included.

Our destination is 67 Burger, a neat little eatery on Flatbush. At the counter, I order a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake, two straws. I introduce Louis and he orders his own french fries and says thank you. The cashier smiles and says, “You’re welcome, Louis!”

We sit in the window booth, watching the activity on the street and the action on the wide screen TV: a football game. We start a new dialog, new concepts, new words. The colors are vivid: blue and white for the New York Giants and green, black, silver and white for the Philadelphia Eagles. The numbers are crisp and clear. “Twelve,” he says. “Referee, rules, stripes, black and white.” Louis is attentive. He looks at my lips and listens to the sound. He wants to get it right. He anticipates my corrections and repeats, “Ref-er-ee.” Finally he realizes he’s got it. A big smile. “You’re so smart, Louis,” I say.

The kids in another booth look at him. Sure, they notice that Louis looks somewhat different, but they also see us having a companionable conversation. They look up at the screen and back at me, as if to say they get it, too. They all want to be included.
The cashier brings my shake, and a special chocolate milk for Louis – “On the house,” she says. Next, we play our change game. Pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. Copper, silver, one, five, ten, twenty-five. Take two, give me six. How many do you have? The four adults at the adjoining table are intrigued.

The food arrives. Louis loves his french fries, but saves some for Abby. We’re almost ready to go when the cashier comes over and sits down. She wants to know more about Louis. I tell her about GiGi’s Playhouse, about potential and achievement, that Louis is on the way and that her caring has made the way more possible.

Out on the wide sidewalk, Louis walks over to the grate and crouches down. The vibration and rumbling noise pass, and he looks up to say, “Subway.” This is nothing new for Louis; he’s a New Yorker. I’m proud of my grandson and the fact that we get out there. I hold his hand and we continue up Flatbush, just a normal Sunday afternoon in Brooklyn. We look at each other, smile, and on the count of three, repeat the same word: “Adventure!”

Richard Reilly
The Grandparent Connection
GiGi’s Playhouse-NYC
October 27, 2013