What Are You Looking At?

Someone recently asked me how I deal with people who stare at my disabled son in public?

Truth is, every time I venture out into public with Jake I am essentially inviting the world to see a little of God’s grace in the raising of my son. I try to maintain that attitude when looks become stares.

What bothers me most is that behind every stare is a thought, perhaps a question that needs answered or a statement that needs to be clarified. As the parent of a special needs child, I have learned to sometimes (not all times) interpret the stares and decipher the thoughts.

I have also formulated some responses to these stares--other than the initial, internal, emotional, rhetorical response of, "What are you looking at?"

Take for instance a recent trip to a crowded shopping mall where, without warning, Jake got mad and threw a box of candy (which contained about 500 or so Jelly Belly jelly beans—his favorite snack). As the box hit the tile floor of the mall, it exploded like a hand grenade, shooting sugary projectiles for 25 feet in all directions.

People froze as if they had suddenly wondered onto an unmarked mine field. Then, like spectators at the scene of a bad car wreck, every eye in the mall zoomed in on my screaming, disabled son as my wife and other children scrambled to clean up the mess.

So I’ll use this multifaceted shopping mall crowd to break down the stares:

1. The angry stare: “Someone needs to get that kid under control. If that were my child I would…”

Response: You would what? You’re right, someone does need to get this child under control. Do you have any ideas? Really? Enlighten us all with your parenting secrets.

2. The compassionate stare: “Oh that poor child and those poor parents, they look so weary. I wish there was something I could do for them”

Response: Why don't you start by helping my wife and kids pick up the Jelly Bellys. We are weary. Thank you for noticing (and that is a sincere thank you). What’s more important is the source of our strength. Your compassion is always welcome. Pray for us, but do not pity us. There are greater things happening here than any of us realize. And if you really want to do something skip down to stare #6.

3. The curious stare: “I wonder what is wrong with that kid.”

Response: I’ll write a book on it someday. Meanwhile, come and ask. (Preferably not right in the middle of an episode though or I might emotionally vomit out, "What's wrong with him? What's wrong with you!") When things settle down, I’d love to share our story with you. I especially don’t mind if you are a small child or young person.

4. The polite stare: “I think they just saw me staring. I shouldn’t stare. I’ll smile now just to let them know I wasn’t staring rudely.”

Response: Yeah, I saw you. It’s ok. I’ve been in the same position before, not knowing what to do. Thanks for the smile. Here’s one back at you.

5. The pretend to not stare, stare: “Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Eyes forward. Just keep walking.”

Response: A kid just threw 500 jelly beans down on the mall floor. You didn’t notice? Are you kidding me?

6. The empathetic stare: “I wonder what it is like to live his life. I am thankful my children are not disabled, but I wonder if I could handle that role as a parent.”

Response: It’s heartbreaking sometimes, but it has its amazing moments too. Go home and pass ball with your kids. Squeeze them tight. Take a long walk, have a long talk, and thank God for them. But don’t forget that there are others out there that might need your help too. Get involved, volunteer, mentor, pray, educate and most importantly learn…these kids have much to teach.

I’m sure there are many more stares to interpret and many more responses to be communicated by special needs kids and parents everywhere.

The bottom line is this: the next time you’re in the mall and a Jelly Belly grenade goes off, be cool. Its ok to look...just stop and help us pick the darn things up.