How My Son Fixed A Hotel Problem that I Couldn't

Photo, courtesy of Angels in Disguise. Look for the link on this site. You will love it!

This is the face of a leader. 

While there are some in the world who might think of a person with Down syndrome as marginal, let me assure you, that’s a misnomer. Even so, I think it’s safe to say in general, people would not consider a person with Down to be a leader.

What exactly is a leader, anyway? I believe a leader is a thinker. A problem solver. A decision maker. Someone who doesn't wait around for others to make things happen. Things happen because the leader makes them happen. Not by railroading others, or demanding, or coercing. But, by facing the giants. 

By giants, I mean facing those things that seem insurmountable. What may seem impossible to some seems a matter of course to a leader. When it comes down to it, a leader sees the need, signs up for the challenge, and then gathers the team to get it done. 

A leader sees the abilities in others, calls them to the task, and then gets out of the way and allows them to do it. 

A leader inspires others. Not with their elevated sense of self, but by their sense of seeing what's possible and elevating others. A leader is fearless.

Sometimes I forget what a leader Charley is. How he kicks his Down syndrome out of the way when facing his giants. How he summons that extra chromosome like a sword, slaying the obstacles in his path. And I saw it in action first-hand this morning. 

Here's what happened... 

We'd been staying at a hotel in Louisville for three days while visiting our families. It came time to leave and I told Charley I would go sign out while he finished packing. If you know anything about that twenty-first chromosome called Down syndrome, then you know what creatures of habit they are. Routine-oriented all the way. 

As far as Charley is concerned, part of the routine of staying in a hotel is using the luggage cart to unload and re-load the car. 

When we arrived, the luggage cart was available. But when we went to check out, all the carts were in use. 

“Gweat,” he said, slapping his palms to his thighs. “No carts.” (Can’t say I blamed him. I sure wasn’t carrying all our junk to the car.)

"Sorry honey," I said. "We'll just have to wait till someone brings one back. Then we can grab it." With that, I sat down on one of the chairs and waited. And waited, while he shifted from foot to foot. Was I to stop at nothing? First, no luggage cart, then trying to bore him to death with waiting?

He looked at me, like, see ya, and headed back to the room. I figured he was going to wait there. I figured wrong. 

About three minutes later here came Charley, into the lobby carrying my hanging clothes, three bags, his swimming fins, goggles, and my makeup case. Following close behind him was a tall, husky man carrying my suitcase and a Charley’s backpack. Behind him was another man. He was carrying our cube of Coke Zeroes, my journal, some books, and a box of snacks we just had to have for our trip.

"Dis way," Charley said, pointing. The men followed. Forgive me, but my mouth dropped open.  

Here was this little guy (Charley), maybe all of 5 feet, directing these two husky six-feet or so men, and they headed outside. "Dat's my Mom," he said to the men, as they went by. "Deese my fwents, Mom."  

The men nodded at me and said, "Hiya Mom, nice to meet you." 

I don't how else to say this, but I could have dropped and rolled right there. You've got to be kidding me. 

There was only one thing left to do; follow them to the car and grovel, followed by some serious apologizing. 

"Did he con you into carrying our luggage?" I asked. 

"Not exactly," one man said. "He said he needed help, so we helped." (I could just envision Charley in the hallway of the hotel, flagging down people on their way to the lobby; “Need help here,” and pointing to the room where the mountain of luggage waited.) 

"Kanks guys," Charley said, and slapped them a high five as the three of them headed back into the hotel.  

I pulled the car around to the entrance of the hotel, thinking it would be easier for Charley and me to get the rest of our stuff. 

Um, did I say Charley and me?  

Scratch that. Because the next thing I know, Charley's emerging from the hotel with a woman following close behind, and she happened to be carrying what was left of the case of bottled waters we had brought with us. Into the back of the van it went.  

He turned and grinned at me. “See?”

Again, my chin nearly hit the ground. 

"Charley, you just can't go asking people to do things like this," I scolded. 

"Welax Mom, I got dis." 

He sure did. 

Before I knew it, the car was completely loaded, and there wasn't a luggage cart in sight. 

Now. You may think this was rude. You may think it invasive. You might even consider it demanding and inappropriate. And I suppose by most standards, it was. But I couldn't help smiling at what a problem solver my supposedly "challenged" son is. There I was, resigned to sit and wait until a luggage cart showed up; while he was busy taking care of the challenge at hand. Facing the giants.

A few minutes later we met my sister for breakfast. When we went to leave, Charley sat down in the waiting area while we paid the bill. He wasn't sitting there very long when a man approached the door pushing a stroller with a small child. I saw the man, and the waiting area filled with people. I also saw the only person who jumped up and raced to hold the door open. It was Charley.  

That was a moment of clarity for me. It wasn't that Charley was trying to con those travelers at the hotel into doing work for him. He simply needed help. He had a task at hand that seemed too much for one person, and he set about gathering his team. To him, that seemed logical. And, bless him, he didn't act like me. Not once did he issue an apology for inconveniencing them. To him, people should help people. And that's just the way it is. 

When I think of all the leadership positions I've had over the years, it makes sense. Every good leader understands team work. They also understand the concept of paying it forward. (Apparently, so does Charley). You help me, and I'll either help you, or I'll help someone else when the situation presents itself.  

It's a simple concept, really, this you help me and I'll help you mentality. And if it’s so simple, then why are we so surprised when a supposedly simple person figures it out? 

I'm embarrassed at how often I underestimate him. How little I still know about that extra chromosome called Down syndrome. But I'm equally impressed at the things he teaches me. 

Does this mean I'll recruit travelers to help me with my luggage when he isn't around? Probably not. Does it mean I won't fuss at him when he sets out recruiting his team, especially when it’s a team he’s never even met? Probably not. 

What it does mean is that I can see him in a new light; that of a person who faces his giants, whether they are people or challenges. 

It also means that when he's faced with those challenges, he's a thinker. He finds a way.

As a mother of a special needs adult, my whole life has been about facing the giants… 

• The massive preconceived notions of that extra chromosome and all the challenges that come with it. 

• The extensive health issues that often accompany Down syndrome. 

• The wide schisms that so often cause those roadblocks in his social development.  

Yes, life has its hurdles. But sometimes it takes an extra chromosome to show us all how to take a leap. 

When I think about it, the world may crumble around us, but the one left standing will be the one who doesn't cower just because the situation seems bigger than he is. 

You’ll know him when you see him. Just follow the leader. 

Sherry Palmer is the Author of Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption. Available at: Life With Charley

Thanks for visiting!

Please visit Charley on Facebook at: Life With Charley - And Down Syndrome

Angels in Disguise

In my book, Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome, I have a chapter where I talk about angels. In the chapter, titled "Pwomp and Circumstance," we are shopping for a suit for Charley to wear to the prom. Brad and I had little money to spend, so we found ourselves at Goodwill looking around. Out of nowhere, a man approaches and starts holding up clothing items for Charley to try. At the end of this post, I will include a portion of the chapter...

I've been thinking about Angels lately, and how they touch us. Angels kind of come out of nowhere, to tap us on the shoulder and remind us that life is precious. 

I've always thought of people with Down syndrome to special angels. They touch us in ways other people cannot. 

These are some of the fantastic folks from Angels in Disguise. 

Just to show you what kind of people they are...

Charley and I contacted them and let them know we were in Louisville. My mother was in the hospital, and we were in need of some serious cheering up. Before we knew it, we were having breakfast together, and Charley had a slew of new friends. 

Later, when Charley put his head on the pillow in the hotel room, he said, "Mom, I like my more fwents."

I said, "How could you not?" 

He wasn't alone. I like them too. Charley knows who likes him and who doesn't. He knows who tolerates him and who wants to be his friend. 

We found a restaurant full of friends that day.

Today we are celebrating our new friends, by posting some photos and adding their Angels in Disguise link to our sidebar. Please give them a visit, won't you? This is a fabulous group of people who celebrate the gift of Down syndrome. 

Thanks Angels in Disguise, for making us feel so welcome...you made Charley very happy! And well, you know the drill...when Mama's happy, everybody's happy!

As promised, here is an excerpt from Life with Charley. 

Charley’s Angel 

You know how some things keep coming back to you long after they’ve happened? That’s what happened to me, and I’ve played it over and over in my mind. I thought I was hearing things when Jordan said she’d been the one to ask Charley to the prom. “But Jordan, you can go with anyone,” I’d said to her. “I don’t want to go with anyone,” she’d said. 

Oh, me of little faith. How could I have doubted him? What gives me the right to assume he can’t get a date just because he has DS? Why wouldn’t someone be thrilled to be with him? He’s the most fun person I know. Apparently, Jordan thought so too. 

It’s been nearly six months since that day. Since Jordan asked him to her junior prom. Since she became his reason to breathe. And now, here we are, just three weeks from the big day. But first we have to make it through spring break, and I can’t think of a better way than to take him shopping for a tuxedo. Problem is, we can’t afford one. There’s a Goodwill store down the road, and I’ve seen some suits there, so off we go. As his luck would have it, there are no tuxes. As my luck would have it, Charley doesn’t care if it’s a tux or not. 

Brad’s at work this morning, unable to join us for this outing, but that’s okay. He’s elected to take Charley shoe shopping later in the week. Meanwhile, Charley and I are standing at the coat rack in the back of the store. “I don’t know, Son, you’ll just have to try them all.” 

He tries on three or four, but nothing works, when out of nowhere there’s a man standing next to us. He’s a tall man, well over six feet I’m sure, and he’s dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. I have no idea where he came from, but there he is, picking items off the rack, though barely looking at them. I notice he’s watching Charley. 

“I go pwomp,” Charley says to the man, like he’s known him for years. “Oh?” “Yeah. Me, Jordan.”

I tell the man Charley’s looking for a coat to wear to the prom.

The man takes a blazer off the rack and hands it to me. “Have him try this one,” he says. 

Charley puts it on but the sleeves come down past his hands. The man hands us another. Then another. They are all too long. Until the last one. It turns out to be Charley’s size but, oops, there’s a skirt with it. 

“Oh for pity’s sake, it’s a girl’s suit,” I say to Charley. 

“I like it,” he says, and sure enough it’s a perfect fit. 

The man says, “Just don’t tell anyone and they’ll never know.”

The next thing I know the man is helping us look for a shirt and tie, and Charley is all set with a “tussado” for the prom. 

“I like him,” Charley says. “Tell the man thank you.” Charley says, “Can I keep him?” 

I look at Charley for a split second. “He’s not a puppy.” The two of us laugh, but when I turn my head back so see the man’s reaction, he’s gone. 

“Where’d he go?” I ask Charley. Charley shrugs his shoulders. “I no know. Wheh is he?”

“Son, tell me the truth. There was a man here, just a second ago. Right?”

***

This is where I’ll stop for now. If you want to know what happens you’ll need to read the book. You can find it here:

Life With Charley

***Thanks for visiting our Life With Charley blog. Please, come back often! 

Blog Z - Guest Post

If this is your first visit to my blog, please take a moment and read my recent guest post on Blog Z. Thanks!

https://zharmaeblog.wordpress.com/2015/07/31/finding-comfort-inspiration-in-the-pages-of-a-journal/

Joy Ride

This may look like the face of an innocent, but I assure you, it is not.

No, this is the face of someone who did his level best to talk me out of the electric cart I was using in Walmart.

"Owww, my foot hurt," he said, hobbling along beside my cart.

Whaaaat? His foot was not hurting.

"Ooooo, hurtin' me in my side," he wailed.

Nice try. Nothing wrong with his side either.

So he followed along behind me as I set out in pursuit of the Hardware Department to find a screwdriver.

But first, I'd have to find a way to get to get there. Not that I couldn't walk it, but I'm due a cortisone shot and what may seem like a short jaunt to you seems like a cross-country hike to my knees.

Somewhere during our Walmart excursion I asked Charley if he would like to go to the front and bring me one of those electric carts. "My knee is in bad shape," I said. "I don't know if I can walk all the way with this cane, and then back again."

Off he went. And where he went, who knows. Around the corner, down the aisle, around another corner, down who knows how many more aisles, while I stood in the main aisle desperately searching with my eyes. Where. Is. He?

He had to be somewhere, but where?

Finally, just as I was about to commit the ultimate embarrassment sin by having him paged, here he came. Big as day, happy as could be.

"Did you think I sent you to get that cart so you could take a joy ride?" I asked, tapping my foot as he approached.

"I having fun, Mom," he said, grinning that grin of his.

"Well get off, I need the cart." I'm sure my tone was curt.

"Be nice, Mom," he said.

So off we went, heading to the back of the store. 

That's when the limping began.

First he held his foot, then, his knee, then his hip. 

"Cut it out," I said. "You're not injured." 

"But I want dat cart. Please...I want it bad."

"I know, but you can't have it. It's for people who have trouble walking."

He sat down. Right in the middle of the aisle. "My foot bwoke."

"It is NOT broken. But I know something that will be, if you don't get up." I glared at him.

He grinned at me.

We resumed our trekk to look at screwdrivers.

And speaking of drivers, did I mention that someone had a screw loose? That would be me. That would be the moment I turned my back to you-know-who and resumed my journey to the hardware department with full confidence that he was right behind me.

Suddenly the hobbling ceased. So did the whining.

Did I mention that when I turned around, Charley was following right behind me? In his very own cart?

I nearly fell out of my seat. 

"Where did you get that?"

"I no know," he said. Like sure. That cart just appeared out of nowhere for your traveling pleasure. Keep your hands inside the ride...

"Well you had to get it from somewhere."

"I bowwote," he said as he pointed toward the paint supplies, and vroom, off he went.

I followed close behind, then made him follow me to make sure he wouldn't mow anyone down.

I couldn't help thinking about how it must be for Charley, seeing all the guys his age drive, knowing he can't. Wishing he could ride off into the sunset with his arm around some girl. I know that's what he envisions, because he tells me so all the time. I feel for the guy. I really do.

But not so much that I couldn't wait to get my hands on him. We had a little talk about those carts, and how taking someone else's cart probably left them in a lurch. I wasn't proud of that. So we went all over the store once more, looking for who-ever-it-was he'd "bowwote" it from. After all, they had it first. And worse, what if they were stranded? 

"When we find who that cart belongs to, you are going to apologize; you got that Mister?"

"Ok Mom. Sorry..."

Never did find the poor soul. Part of me hoped they'd gotten a ride to the check out, and part of me was afraid we'd come face to face and I'd have to admit that my son was the culprit.  That I qualified for Worst Mother of the Year. Shame overload. That this 25 year old opportunist with a beard had hopped on their cart and left them in his dusty trail. Worse, that I hadn't taught him better. Pastor's wives (spouses)...are you with me here? Our kids are supposed to be perfect, right? Eh...not so fast...

I tried, believe me, I did. But even with everything I've attempted to do right as a parent, and in the backdrop of how wrong this was on so many levels, all manners and consideration for others go out the window when faced with a go-cart and a store that has morphed into a race track. What I wanted to do was clobber him (after I stopped laughing - to myself of course). But since I'm a better shammer than clobberer, I would just have to wait and fuss in the car. (Which I did).

There was only one thing left to do. Get the heck out of the store. 
"Start your engines," I said. 

"Woohoo!" he squealed. If he'd had long hair it would have been flapping in the breeze. And off we went, heading toward the entrance where hopefully some other shopper would be able to salvage their knees.

I hate to admit this, and I know it's wrong, but it was the most fun I've ever had at WalMart. 

Me in my cart, hoping we wouldn't get caught. 
Him, on his joy ride.

***

Sherry Palmer is the author of "Life with Charley: A Memoir of Down syndrome Adoption." You can find it at: 

Life with Charley

Thanks for visiting! Please come back often...

Please look for Charley on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Life-with-Charley-and-Down-syndrome/514830105272710

A Little Pumped Up

I’ve been trying to give Charley more responsibility lately.

After all, he is knocking on the door of 25 years.

I suppose I’ve kept him on a short leash. But then, if you read “Life with Charley,” you know why. 

You know all those times he’s run off, worried me sick, taken off on the neighbor’s three wheeler, and who knows what else? Yeah, those times.

Those are the times when I feel justified being a looney mom. I can’t help it. Keeping him safe is my job. So yes, he’s been pretty much in line of sight his whole life, that is, unless someone else is trusted with the job, say, like spending the afternoon at a friend’s house.

The good news, is that he’s growing up. That means he’s trusted with more responsibility.

Like running out to the car to get something we've forgotten without us watching his every move. Oh, he may forget momentarily that he’s supposed to return, but that’s only when a basketball is present and the neighborhood kids are shooting hoops. What’s a guy supposed to do? come back to the house immediately, or strut his stuff…show off his great moves to the neighbors? Most of the time he comes back.

Other indications that he’s getting older. 

• Helping Dad clean the kitty litter box and cat feeders.
• Getting the mail.
• Cleaning out the car.
• Helping to set the table.
• Setting the garbage cans out for Waste Management and then bringing them back to the house at the end of the day. 

And…his all time favorite; helping Dad pump the gas.

DaddyBrad usually pays. Charley pumps.

Yesterday I picked him up at a friend’s house after a birthday party. I admit I was in a panic because I was low on gas and got lost on my way to her house.

Charley’s good with directions, so he was able to help navigate us back to the main highway, where, thank you God, there was a Shell station.

I pulled up to the pump, turned the car off, and started to open the door. 

Charley said, “I helpin’ you, Mom.”

I said, “Okay, but I’ll have to pay first.”

“Okay, Sherry Honey,” he said, flashing that grin at me.

That made me laugh. I guess he’s heard his Dad say that.

“You think you can do it, Man?” I asked.

“Me?”

Then I did something I’ve never done before. I handed him ten dollars.

“Here ya go, Bud. Give this to the lady behind the counter and tell her I’m on pump #3,” I said.

“Me?”

“Do you see any other Bud around here?”

At that he took the money and went into the store, waving the ten dollar bill in his hand. The lady behind the counter gave me a wave, and out he came, heading straight to the pump.

I watched as the gas gauge moved. But not much. Geez, I know times are tough, but you’d think $10.00 would go further than that. 

My thoughts were interrupted when he got in the car and handed me seven dollars.

“What’s that?” I said.

“You money.”

“You gave the ten dollars to the lady?”

“Yeah. I told her fwee.”

“As in, three dollars worth?”

“Yeah.”

But I meant pump #3…

Couldn’t help laughing, but not so he could see.

I considered whether we could get home on three dollars worth of gas. But then, there was something else to consider. This was his first independent visit into a gas station, paying the lady, pumping the gas.

No one to tell him how to do it.

No one to tell him he wasn’t doing it right.

No one treating him like he wasn’t 25.

“I got it awe?” he said, his face beaming with pride, his chest a little more pumped up.

“You sure did,” I said. “You did a great job.”

I looked at the $7.00 in my hand.

I looked at the gas gauge.

I sure didn’t get my $10 worth.

But what I got? Priceless.

***

Sherry Palmer is the author of "Life with Charley: A Memoir of Down syndrome Adoption." You can find it at: http://www.amazon.com/Life-Charley-Sherry-Palmer/dp/1937365700/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1436741962&sr=8-1&keywords=life+with+charley

Thanks for reading my blog! Please come back often...

Hallelujah Hallow

 

On the porch...listening to his "hallow"

 

Charley stayed home from his Day program today. Our plan was to do some work around the house. But when it came time to dig in, well, a certain someone I know and love planted himself on the couch.

 

So I begged. Pleaded. Bribed. Moaned. Pleeeease, Charley. You promised you would help.

 

Think it did any good? Well, not exactly.

 

I folded clothes. He danced to High School Musical.
 

"Son," I said. "Turn off that radio. Stop that dancing. We've got chores to do. Get busy."

 

I scrubbed the sink. He played with the cat.

 

I cleaned out the closet. He went to the fridge and sprawled out on the couch to eat. And eat. And, EAT.
 

WELL, THIS JUST BURNED ME UP.

 

I did what I suspect most Mom's do. I threatened.

 

If you don't get off your rear, this will happen...

 

You're gonna to be sorry, because that will happen...
 

I'm gonna tell Dad...and anything can and will happen...

 

Finally, out of sheer frustration I sat down and cried. I don't know why, exactly. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
 

What did he do? He continued to eat. And luxuriate on the couch. And eat.

"Stop crying Mom."

Stop crying? Sounded good. But how? I just kept at him. Yap. Yap. Yap. As if he would get the message that he was being an inconsiderate jerk. My hissy fit was of no use to me. Even I could see that.

 

And then something happened. I shut up. I just sat there and cut him off from all conversation.

 

He doesn't like that. Let me rephrase that...he can't. stand. it.

 

He tried, believe me.

 

Mom, what doin?

 

Mom, I tired.

 

Mom, work is hard.

 

Still, no comment from me. Let me tell you what, Buster, I am NOT talking to YOU.

I admit it. I felt sorry for myself. Why should I have to do all the work? I've got an able-bodied 24 year old. He can do the grunt work. Lift the heavy stuff. Help a little.

Somewhere between my no-talking and his please-talk-to-me stand-off, he turned the dial on the radio to the middle of a sermon on repentance.

 

The preacher talked about taking responsibility for your life, and having the guts to apologize when you've been wrong. But not just saying you are sorry, he said you have to change your behavior or the repentance doesn't count. He said that we all sometimes make poor choices, and that if we want to really be happy in this life, we have to be responsible for our own happiness, and that includes how we treat others.

 

What happened next should have surprised me, but it didn't. Because I know Charley.

 

There, standing in front of me, was my son, holding out his hand, helping me up. He looked me in the eye and said, "Mommy, God said we-pen-dance. On da hallow (that's what Charley calls his radio). I listened."
 

I said, "God was on the radio?"

 

He said, "Yep. He said we-pen-dance."

 

"Repentance?"

 

"Yeah, Mom. We-pen-dance. I sorry, Mom. What do?"

 

And there went my frown, right out the window. And why not? I couldn't help smiling as he explained that the voice on the radio belonged to God. Hallelujah.

 

So there he was, apologizing. Repenting. Asking me what I wanted him to do. Changing his behavior. Doing the right thing.

 

Here was this young man with special needs, who some might think of as marginal, or simple, taking responsibility, asking for some assignment, telling me, "I work now. "

And with that, he went to the dryer and pulled the laundry out, and loaded the washer. Then he proceeded out to the end of the driveway and pulled the garbage can back up to the house (and put it where it is supposed to go). Next, he assisted as I cleaned off the Baker's cabinet. And this time, not one complaint.

"See?" he said. "I make you pappy."

 

And it did. It made me so happy I cried again.

 

Charley was not the least bit amused.
 

"Mom, you no cry," he said. "You listen, you we-pen-dance. God said." Then he headed to the porch with his "hallow" to do a little dance. Right out there where all the neighbors could see. Strutting his stuff.

 

And you know what? That made me laugh. Not that he was trying to be funny, but when your kid hears the word repentance and then dances a little jig on the porch, what's a Mom to do?

You do a little jig, that's what. You park your marching orders at the door. You lay your burdens down. You look into the face of your child who says he's listened to God, and you do a little we-pen-dance. And you listen to the wisdom of that extra chromosome called Down syndrome. 

 

And if you're not careful, you just might laugh a little more . You just might see the world in a different way. You might hear something worth dancing about on that Hallelujah Hollow.

 

********

Thank you for reading my blog! Please come back soon!
 

 

Sherry McCaulley Palmer is the author of Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption, published by Zharmae Publishing Press, available on Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Life-Charley-Sherry-Palmer/dp/1937365700/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1432478401&sr=8-1&keywords=life+with+charley

 

You can read the first two chapters free, here: http://firstreadzfirst.com/2014/10/22/45/

 

Please visit Charley on his Facebook page at: Life with Charley - And Down Syndrome:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Life-with-Charley-and-Down-syndrome/514830105272710?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

Heart Warriors

So pleased to announce that my guest blog is featured today In Blog Z...

In my book, Life with Charley, I have a chapter titled “Everyone’s Arena.” It’s all about the Special Olympics.

Now. You may think the focus is on the athletes. And it is, as it should be. It’s their time. But there’s something else. I want to talk about coaches. And peer tutors. And volunteers. And heart. And smiles. And those who make it possible for our athletes to shine.

It’s heart that leaves a family and boards the bus with around 60 athletes, 20 coaches, and 20 peer tutors (and that’s just the bus from our area) seeing to their every need, both physically and emotionally.

It’s heart that guides and directs the athletes from event to event, pushing wheelchairs, monitoring, seeing to it that medications are taken on time, making sure they get their snacks, stay hydrated, wear sunscreen.

It’s heart that stands on the sidelines, cheering, yelling, “You can do it!”

It’s heart that’s been on the go all day, yet finds the energy to be that dance partner for that athlete who otherwise might sit this one out.

It’s heart that sends my Charley home with a smile like no other.

You see, these aren’t just ordinary hearts. These are heart warriors. 
Warriors in charge of other hearts. Warriors that go out in search of smiles. Warriors that capture the very spirit of what it means to be a Special Olympian and the smiles that go with it.

Smiles like the one my son has when he arrives home.

Smiling is not unusual for him. It’s something that comes natural, like breathing. But this is a different smile.This is a smile that says, “I’ve got friends.”

Mike and Charley

“I belong.”
“I’m one of them.”
“I am somebody.”
Yeah. That smile.

It’s a smile of knowing acceptance. Of being a star. Of knowing you’ve made it to the finish line. Of standing shoulder to shoulder with your teammates. Posing for the picture.

It’s a smile that’s heard the thunder of applause, and knowing it’s meant for you.

Each time my Charley comes home from the Special Olympics, tired, happy, proud, I say a silent prayer of thanks. For the Special Olympics that puts that smile on my son’s face. For the hearts that give it freely. For those who do what few others would do, reaching into the hearts of those Special Olympians and pulling out those time of your life smiles.

Today my husband and I stood in the parking lot and watched as the bus drove away. The bus that would deliver the most important person in our lives to the one place that could help him find that smile.

So today I want to turn the spotlight on those who make it possible. 

Those who heart others.

Those who send our kids home with that smile.

I want these heart warriors to know that for those of us back home looking forward to that smile, rest assured. That smile belongs to them.
***
Sherry is holding a “Life with Charley Gratitude Giveaway.” To find out more about the contest, go to:
 goodreads.com/giveaway/show/138960-life-with-charley-a-memoir-of-down-syndrome-adoption
You can find out more about Sherry and Charley at:
lifewithcharley.blogspot.com/
Charley’s Facebook: facebook.com/pages/Life-with-Charley-and-Down-syndrome/514830105272710?ref=bookmarks
Twitter: @LifeWithCharley
Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/Sherry-McCaulley-Palmer/e/B00OYYANFA/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
***
Sherry Palmer is the author of Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption.
About the book:
Step into the world of special needs parenting and catch a heartwarming glimpse of unconditional love.
Charley is funny, ridiculous, ornery, and charismatic. He also has Down syndrome, and Sherry Palmer thanks her stars each and every night for the blessing that is Charley. Sherry knew that her life would change drastically when she and her husband decided to adopt a baby boy with Down syndrome, and she knew they would struggle at times with his developmental challenges, with other peoples’ perceptions, and with their own emotions. What she didn't know was just how amazing their world would become once Charley was in their lives—and in their hearts.
What the couple wants is to be parents. Little do they know that adopting a baby with Down syndrome breaks all the rules.
What the family wants is to talk them out of it. Thus begins a phone-calling campaign of do-gooders warning of the pitfalls. Surely this couple has no idea what they are doing. Surely they realize it’s a lifetime choice. What these well-intentioned people don’t know is that it’s the chance of a lifetime.
What the church wants is a typical pastor’s family (The handsome pastor. The thin, perfect pastor’s wife. The well-behaved, well-mannered preacher’s kid). What they get is the polar opposite, and what they find out is that sometimes even church life can have its challenges.

From the unlikeliest of sources comes a powerful message that the key to true happiness is in just being yourself.

https://zharmaeblog.wordpress.com/2015/05/15/fta-heart-warriors/

Please visit! 

In the meantime, I'm excited to announce our Life With Charley Giveaway!

Announcing our "Life With Charley" Gratitude Giveaway!

Beginning today and ending May 30th you can enter to win one copy of "Life With Charley: A Memoir of Down Syndrome Adoption," signed by Charley and me.

This Gratitude Giveaway is in honor of the teachers, coaches, peer tutors, and volunteers who have given so much of themselves to make my son happy. 

In fact, at the time of this posting, they are on a bus on their way to the Special Olympics in Nashville. Rather than spending the weekend with their families, they are taking Charley and roughly 60 others to compete in the state games. Folks such as Gina Legg, Mike Sowards,  Camryn Cupp, Nate Berryman,  Skylar Gilliam, and Gabriel Boninoma. And that's just this trip! A host of others have taken their turns as well, such as Gerry Williams, and Yvette Dinger-Bennett, Miranda Williams, Jordan Childress, and Karri Byrd.

I'm naming those I know of who have worked with Charley's group. I know there are others. If I have missed your name it was not on purpose. There's no way I could name them all, and that's the point. There are many who have been so good to Charley and all of the Special Olympians on the state and local level. There's nothing Charley likes more, and Brad and I are incredibly grateful that he is included.

I'm so excited to have this chance to celebrate the Special Olympics with this Gratitude Giveaway. 

I know our athletes are special, but this giveaway is all about gratitude for those who make the Special Olympics possible for our loved ones. Those who, as I write about in my book, make the Special Olympics "Everyone's Arena." 

As the Special Olympics motto says, "Let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." It is these service-oriented volunteers who create the arena where everyone is a winner.

On behalf of my Special Olympian: Thank you.

Here's the link to sign up for the giveaway on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/138960-life-with-charley-a-memoir-of-down-syndrome-adoption

I will be re-running this post over the next couple of weeks along with pictures of the Special Olympics. Please share so we can honor these volunteers properly. Thanks!