I stood on the periphery and watched for a couple of minutes as life went on in front of me. Everybody was running around with kickballs, shooting hoops, playing on playground equipment, and having fun in so many different ways.
Everyone except my son.
Josh stood in the middle of the paved area of the playground by himself. There were probably one hundred twenty kids outside for their lunchtime recess and another ten or so adults.
Josh was in third grade, and I had stopped by to check in on him.
I would often get calls from the school to tell me Josh had fallen, as he was still very unsteady on his feet. A sudden stiff wind could knock him over at that time.
Checking in on him wasn’t out of the norm, and aside from being a bit worried every time he wasn’t with me, truthfully, I plain old missed him.
…
When I walked back to the playground and scanned the area for Josh, I eventually spotted him amongst the swirl of natural activity on playgrounds.
Sadly, he wasn’t part of the activity. He stood alone in the middle of the asphalt as the other children went about doing what children do best, playing.
My heart sank, and I felt terrible for him.
I can’t say for sure what he was thinking, but it sure looked to me like he wanted to be a part of the action.
I felt empty seeing him there by himself.
This young boy, who had been through so much already in his young life, was alone in the middle of this playground, with not a soul to play with.
He didn’t appear to be noticed by anyone.
To me, it felt unfair.
An injustice on top of an injury.
My sadness shifted to frustration, then indignation and anger.
In my mind, Josh had stood at the door of death, fought his way back, and while not completely healed (nor would he ever be), had already climbed the equivalent of Mount Everest just to be able to stand on his own two feet.
How could anybody not want to hang out with him?
But such is life.
We don’t all fit everywhere.
And we don’t notice some of life’s details right before us.
…
It’s sad when you see a person who is clearly alone.
When it’s your own child, the sadness goes deeper. It goes to a place of sadness soaked in loss and rung out on the ground in front of you.
It penetrates the soul, and the picture of them being outside the group takes up residence in your memory as this one did in mine.
I’m pretty sure similar scenes play out daily on many, if not every, school playground across the country. The cycle is repeated whether or not children with special needs are involved.
We’ve all been there on one side of that coin or the other: the one who is standing there alone or the one who is unaware of another’s aloneness.
I went through an interesting exercise once during Advanced Training with a friend of mine, Dan Millman. Dan is an incredibly gifted teacher, author, and all-around nice guy whose work has inspired millions. A world-class gymnast while at U.C. Berkeley in the sixties, he has too many accolades and awards to list here.
Dan is best known for his book, Way of the Peaceful Warrior. If you have not had a chance to read his work, listen to him speak, or train at an event with him, take the first opportunity you can to do so.
It is very frequently a life-changing experience.
The Death Fairy exercise, as Dan affectionately refers to it, goes like this: At a moment unbeknownst to you, there would be a tap on your shoulder from Dan.
At the moment of your tap — and it didn’t matter where you were, what you were doing, or who you were with — you had to “drop dead” on the spot.
You had to lie there for a certain amount of time, eyes closed and motionless, as if you had just keeled over.
This was powerful because everybody else had to keep going about their business.
The “Death Fairy” visited me as the entire group walked along a path on the side of a gently sloping hill. We were headed to another location to take part in a confidence course away from the ranch, where most of the training took place.
One second, I was alive, and the next, I was “gone,” but life kept going for everybody else. The people walking in front of me had no idea I was “gone,” and the people behind me kept walking.
My death did not cause mass hysteria, nor did the world stop turning.
…
It’s an interesting exercise to go through. You are an observer instead of a participant. The thought that nearly nothing in this world changes “when you die” is a bit sobering.
Of course, family and friends would be devastated by our passing. An abrupt or seemingly early death can be brutal.
There would certainly be a hole in the lives of those closest to us.
But the world isn’t going to change or alter its behavior because we are no longer here.
As a matter of fact, the world at large won’t even notice we are gone.
So what’s the point?
The point is that Josh, like so many people who don’t fit in a nice neat box, went unnoticed that day and possibly many other days.
Even though Josh was very much alive and surrounded by scores of children and adults, he was alone. It wasn’t an existential exercise adults do at personal development seminars. It was real life.
It wasn’t malicious or intentional, but it did hurt.
Over the years, as Joshua has become more aware of his situation, he has become more able to articulate his loneliness and feelings of wanting to fit in.
He has progressed to the point that he expresses his frustration, and at times anger, with his circumstances.
That is both a blessing and a challenge.
I try to spin it as “This is the hand we were dealt. This is our life, and we will make the best of it. We may have to do extra work, but it will be worth it.”
The Bitter Medicine.
Wishing for an easier life won’t give us an easier life.
The best shot at life ever feeling easier is to become stronger, and the only way that can happen is for us to persevere through these challenges.
Life offers us little except a new day for most of the days we walk this earth. If we are paying attention, sometimes we get a little more.
A kind word.
A beautiful smile.
A glorious sunset.
A hug that lingers and is especially heartfelt and warm.
I don’t know that Josh had any idea or judgment about that day being by himself on that playground. I suspect not.
We need each other more than we know. Some of us need more.
Let’s keep our eyes open for each other.
Keep the Faith. Love Wins.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
 White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism |
 Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box |
 The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer |
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Photo credit: Jordan Rowland on Unsplash
