The other night Jessica wasn’t feeling well, so I took Namine over to the park so she could have some peace and quiet. It threw our entire evening’s schedule off, but Namine didn’t mind.
We grabbed Namine’s two brand spankin’ new sand castle buckets and the giant shovel – I kid you not, it’s bigger than she is – and headed over to the park across the street. There were already several children there, which got Namine even more excited. We built sand castles, she climbed up the playground and went down the slide, she swung on the swings – she had a blast.
The thing that strikes me as interesting, for lack of a better word, is how kids behave around her. Some of the kids at the playground have seen her before, some not. Only one girl asked about her legs, and the conversation between us went like this when she watched Namine climb up the stairs to go down the slide:
“Can’t she walk?”
I said, “No, her legs are smaller than yours or mine. She is learning to walk with a walker, but she can’t do it by herself yet.”
“Does she need help?”
Namine piped up, “No, I don’t need help. I can do it myself!”
And she did. Namine still needed some help going down the slide, but that’s more a matter of fear than physical capability. But back to my point: after that one conversation, there was not a mention of Namine’s differences. Maybe we adults could learn a thing or two about acceptance.