d run out of their homes without parents following them. Often I left for hours playing with friends, always heeding my mother to come home before dinner time. Now there is too much fear of bad parenting or fear of kids finding bad influences. But growing up with this sense of freedom, helped me to discover what’s important to me.
This is my experience about my friend Clay. This experience has shaped so much of who I am today. I cannot imagine who I would be without the freedom to skip down the street on my own and discover who I wanted to be friends with on my own.
“Mommy, I am going to the Pocket Park to play with Clay.”
“Ok. Just come back before dinner.”
I flew down the stairs, swung the door open and slammed it closed behind me. Skipping down the driveway the feeling of happiness filled me. I continued to smile and skip all the way down the street until I arrived at the cul-de-sac where the Pocket Park lived. We called it “The Pocket Park” because it was in the “pocket” of the street. Coming here with Clay I felt free of any of the sadness from my house. I was just able to be me. At least until dinnertime. I ran, picked flowers, twirled, and sang.
Clay lived a few houses closer to the park than I did. He was already waiting for me. He was three years older than me. I was seven and he was ten. Clay was closer to my brother's age but he was my friend. I loved that he wanted to spend time with me and that it was just the two of us.
We met here regularly, to talk or be silent. The park was a great place for us to just be kids. It was small, there was one slide, two swings and a beautiful flower patch. Sometimes I went down the slide. I also rode high on the swings. Always, I described the feelings of the slide on my tushy or the wind in my face as I rode the swing. I tried to be as descriptive as I could, wishing he could go down the slide with me or up in the air next to me.
Swinging back and forth he watched wide-eyed as I shared the experience with him.
“Clay. It feels like the wind is tickling my skin with one hand and brushing my hair away from my face with the other. I have to work really hard with my legs to go high. The harder I press my legs the more the wind tickles me.
Sometimes I felt sad describing how I had legs that worked. But there was a part of me that felt that sharing this with him brought him happiness.
Leaping off the swing I ran to Clay excited to share what I experienced.“Let me show you” I pursed my lips and blew on his face sending his hair up and around. My tiny hands tickled the sides of his cheeks, he began to laugh. Hearing his laughter my heart felt full.
“Thank you, Michelle. Now I know what it feels like to swing in the wind”.
I pointed to the flowers and we went to see the beautiful buttercups that I so loved. I picked the bright beautiful yellow flowers and gathered them in my hand to share with Clay. Bringing them right up to his nose he took a big whiff and smelled the gentle fragrance. He could see the dainty flowers and the bright colors. I put them in his shirt pocket for him to bring to his mother. Buttercups were my favorite. And there was a huge buttercup patch. I didn’t feel badly about picking some because I knew I was sharing something I loved with someone who was important to me.
When he sniffed he closed his eyes as if to absorb all of the memories of them, the color, the scent and maybe even the offering from a friend.
When Clay and I were in the Pocket Park, I didn’t feel like I had to try to be happy, it just happened. I was happy. I also shared times I wasn’t. I think he felt like he could just be a kid. Not someone that everyone else looked at or stared at. Clay was just my friend. I didn’t care that he didn’t have arms or legs. It didn’t bother me that he sat in a wheelchair. He got to the park faster than I was able to skip, his wheelchair was motorized. I saw him as normal and he didn’t see me as broken. We were a good team.
I asked him about the wheelchair. Afterall, a seven year old is curious. He took time and patience to explain it to me. I sat next to his side and he looked in my eyes telling me his mom took some medicine (Thalidomide) and he was born that way. I felt sad and wished he could just be a kid who could run and play. I wanted him to have every experience I did. To me, he was just a kid.
“I have epilepsy. I wasn’t born with it but I have had it since I was five years old. We both have something.”
I didn’t want him to feel alone.
Clay didn’t have arms or legs but he took the stubby part of his arm and put it gently on mine. “I love you, Michelle”
I felt deeply connected to him at that moment.
I loved twirling and singing and watching his face light up. I often wonder where he is today. My time with Clay in the Pocket Park sparked a deep passion and purpose in my life of humanizing people with different abilities. Not dis-abilities. Not handicaps. But HANDI-CAPABLE.
Growing up my mother would say “where do you find all of these people?”. My answer was always “I am one.”
I may not be in a wheelchair but I have known great injustices because of my own medical issues (I have many). My passion and purpose is helping each person who does not believe in themselves see the spark that I see. To help clear the way for them to succeed because they deserve equal chances.
I am an advocate.
I get great pleasure out of helping others succeed.
The seven year old little girl that loved to play in the park is still alive inside of me. She still loves buttercups and plays on swings. She still skips, laughs, smiles and remembers the sweetest moments in life. That little girl is me. I am thankful for all of my experiences that have brought me to today. Yes, if a swing is empty, I will plop myself in it and let the wind tickle my face and brush my hair. I still love swings. The Pocket Park still lives at the end of the cul-de-sac for all of the children to love.
YES! I still swing on swings. As often as I can.
Beautifully written! Felt like I was present. Your story is so loving, inspiring and gentle. I truly enjoyed reading it. Thank you!
Beautiful memory….so wonderfully written. And how fitting that the buttercup is often said to represent joy, youth, purity, happiness and friendship. (I, too, have often thought of Clay over the years.)