The Special Olympics

I want you to imagine something...

When you were born, something went wrong. You were born handicapped. Maybe it's a part of your body that doesn't work. Maybe it's your brain.

I want you to imagine that you've been told, all your life, that you're handicapped. That you're different. I want you to imagine walking down the street and having people stare at you, because they know that you're 'not right.'

I want you to imagine having a thought, just an average thought that passes through everyone's mind now and then. But you can't express that desire, you can't find the words to explain it to someone because that part of your brain that should be finding the words doesn't work right. You know exactly what it is, but you just can't do it. Imagine the frustration.

Picture a table of people. They're laughing and talking and having a great time. You walk up to them and they stop and stare. You aren't one of them. You're different. You aren't allowed in the group. You're always on the outside, looking in.

Imagine that for me.

Now imagine that there's one day, one sparkling day where you aren't told that you're different, that you're not right, that you're handicapped. Imagine a day when you're told that you're special.

You aren't the odd person in the group, because every direction you look, there are people just like you, special people. Kids, adults, boys, girls, white, black, Hispanic, it's a melting pot of different shapes, sizes and types with one thing in common. You are all special.

People are laughing and talking and having a great time. When you walk up to a group of people talking they don't stop talking, they invite you in. You aren't on the outside, you are on the inside.

Imagine that the time has come. You're standing on the starting line. You can hear your heart beating fast. This is it. This is your event. The man standing to the side of the track lifts the gun.

"On your mark!"

You are going to win. You are going to win to prove to the world that you aren't handicapped, you just work a little differently.

"Get set!"

The cheering has already started. People shouting your name. Your heart speeds up even more. They know, they know that you aren't handicapped. You're special. You're a Special Olympian.

BANG!

The gun goes off and you feel like you're flying. The wind is in your hair. People are cheering, screaming, stomping, clapping. The roar is deafening. You sense others around you, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that right then, you are past every look, every stare, every frustrating moment of being unable, being slow when you want to be fast, or being held back by others' doubts about you. You are flying, you are flying and your wings are golden.

It's over in a whirlwind of sound and breathless excitement. Everyone groups together, everyone from the race. You grin and hug and laugh and slap high fives with the others. Places don't matter. It was running the race that was important, it was what the race meant that mattered. You aren't odd. You're special.

I want you to imagine that. And then I want you to remember it. Remember it next time you see someone different walking down the street and you're tempted to stare. Remember it the next time something doesn't work and you call it 'retarded.' Remember it, and remember the oath that these people take before they begin their Olympic games each spring.

"Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt."

This post is dedicated to my own gold medal winner. Kari, you are the dearest sister that I could have hoped for.

VOLUNTEER