It poured rain here in Orange County today.
(And suddenly everyone forgets how to drive. But that’s another story, for another day).
Anyway, it was early afternoon and I was driving home from class when I saw a group of special needs adults walking down the sidewalk with who I presumed were their aides or caretakers.
Probably an adult transition program, I thought to myself.
My heart always leaps into my throat when I see these groups walking around my neighborhood. Against my will, I’m immediately thrust ten years into the future, when my own special needs son will likely be participating in similar activities.
I’m not ready.
Not even a little bit.
But back to this afternoon. It just so happened that I caught a red light and had to slow down right next to this group of special needs adults. And that’s when I realized they were getting soaked to the bone.
And that the only people with umbrellas were the aides and caretakers.
SON OF A BITCH.
It’s called compassion. It’s called dignity. It’s called giving a crap and being of service.
If you go into this line of work and that’s not the way you look at your job, do me a favor and find something else to do for a living.
Like licking stamps.
I’m mad at myself too.
I should have pulled over and said something.
I should have gone across the street and purchased six umbrellas and given them to those soaking wet special needs adults.
I should have.
But I didn’t.
And that’s the last time I see something like that and not get involved.
Because as my best friend reminded me today, every one of those adults is someone’s child. Someone’s vulnerable, special needs child.
Which makes them my child too.