A Posse of His Own #2

 

Some of you may remember our initial foray into track back in 2017.  The program was run through SNAP (Special Needs Athletic Partnership) in partnership with the South Shore Fireboltz and Coleman had an amazing experience.  One of the ‘coach’ volunteers at the time was his former Hingham teacher, and since this was shortly after Coleman left Hingham public schools, it was the first time he had seen her since leaving.  I wrote about that reunion previously, and the memories Coleman running with his old class brings me joy to this day. 

It also brings me sorrow, because Coleman had a really hard time when the program ended 6 weeks later.  I think he misunderstood what was happening and somewhere in his mind, I think he thought this was somehow the beginning of a return to Hingham, his friends, and Miss J.  We prepared him of course that it was only 5, then 4, then 3 etc weeks before it ended but he heard what he wanted to hear, and apparently the program ending was not something he wanted to hear. 

“Where’s track?”  he asked excitedly, the day after it ended. 

“It’s over, remember?” I responded.

“Where’s Miss J?” he asked without pause.

“Coley, track and Miss J are over.  We can see them next year.”

“Where are the kids?”, he asked again, not giving up.

This conversation went on for about two weeks, many, many times per day, until, sadly, one morning he stated flatly “Track is all gone.”    No amount of explaining helped.  He wanted nothing to do with conversation about track after that.  He didn’t want to look at photos from track, or videos from track, or even hear the word ‘track”.  It was terribly sad. 

We didn’t sign up again the following year.  Maybe that was foolish, but I didn’t think either of us could handle it.  The cruelty of giving him something he loved, only to take it away again six weeks later was just something that I couldn’t explain and he couldn’t understand.

Last spring, 5 years later, a teacher at Scituate mentioned Special Olympics Track.  Apparently, several kids from his class were going to do it.  I wondered if he would remember what track was and if he would want to try.  I sat with him one night the following week and said “Coley do you remember track in Hingham? Do you remember running at the high school with all the kids and Miss J.?”  He looked up quickly, and I knew he remembered.  Before he could respond I said “Some kids from school at going to go to track in Scituate?  It’s not with Miss J.  It will be different but fun.”  I named kids in his class, and told him that they would be there.  I watched him mentally process it, and when he walked away repeating “We’re going to track with the kids” I knew we were at least going to give it a try.   

Turns out, he loved it.  The track season for him was spectacular in every way.  It lasted for 3 months, twice weekly, and from day one, it was a hit.  It also happens to be where we experienced the single greatest social moment ever. 

We were running late one afternoon (shocking, I know) and when we arrived, the kids were about half-way around the track walking, doing their warm up lap.  I took Coleman’s water bottle from him and pointed across the field.  “See the kids over there?  Run across the grass and you can catch up to them.”  He walked at first and then started to move a little quicker in the direction of the group.  When he was about half way there, the kids on the track noticed him.  “Hey look its Coleman”, they yelled. “Coleman!” “Hey Coley!” Four of his friends from school came running across the field to meet him.  They were smiling and yelling, shooting up high fives, and hugging each other as they walked back to the track.  

This might seem overblown to you, but you just can’t even imagine how meaningful that moment was to both Coleman and I.  I stood in complete awe, so thrilled for my boy that other kids noticed him, other peers were happy to see him.  For the first time in his life, he had friends.  For Coleman, his gleeful, smiling face and twirling fingers said it all. Immeasurable happiness.  He finally had a posse of his own.