My kids are better than yours. Yeah, I was going to be diplomatic and simply tell you how proud I am, but figured why not cut to the chase. My kids rock, and yours are probably good, too, no disrespect meant, but mine are simply sublime. And yours are good, seriously, don't get me wrong here, you have good kids, but, okay...as long as we understand each other.
My daughter is teaching developmentally disabled kids this summer, as she did last summer, teens with Autism to varying degrees. It's a job she does well, with love and care, and it's a fulfilling challenge that beats flipping burgers.
She got attacked today. Twice. One of the kids just went crazy and attacked her, two different times, scratching her arms and hands. I don't mean kitty cat sratches, I mean a wild attack causing deep scratches and cuts. My daughter handled it well, though it was upsetting to her, of course, but I was struck with what happened after that. A boy came up to her, sadly touched her bleeding scratches and said "Your beautiful hand. Oh, my dear lady...look at your beautiful hand." He traced the wounds with his finger and kissed her hand. The work that she does, and loves, has not left her unscathed, but the balm of the boy's concern helped begin the healing, along with the humor of speaking as if he were in a Shakespeare play "Oh...my dear lady..."
My second daughter is volunteering at a retreat right now. My third one volunteers to help her older sister with the autistic kids. Face it, Sparky, my kids rock.
Love and humility from Wilson World,
Tom
