She’s Rude, by Your Standards

But she’s a miracle by mine.

This was the first year that Kimani was interested in Trick-or-treating. For starters, she allowed me to put a big fluffy red Disney dress over her clothes.

Full stop. ^^ That may not seem like anything major to you but it IS. Kimani wears anything I want her to unless I want to put a costume on her… then forget it. She bellows. She squirms. She outright fights, and when she loses the battle, she waits until I look away and then rips it off. But not this year. This year she cooperated. (What a word, what a feeling)

When it was time to leave the house she was the first one to the door. She cooperated (ah that word again!) for pictures. Yeah, I know she isn’t looking at the camera but she IS holding her brother’s hand and is NOT trying to run away, which in my book practically counts as posing. (She is also not ripping her dress off!!!)

She sat in her seat in the van with no fussing or getting up, didn’t even have to use the seatbelt lock. She was good all the way to the Trunk-or-Treat hosted by a local church. She did not hit even one kid on the way into the church (a trunk or treat with no trunks, BOO!). But then, THEN a lady dressed up as something pretty leaned toward us with a bowl full of candies… and BAM! out popped my wildcat. Kimani threw two open hands into that bowl and fished out a pile of treats. I apologized (but didn’t return any) as I helped Kimani shovel her goodies into her bag. Five minutes into the church thing I realized there were too many people for Kimani, and too many complications between her and the candy bowls (you had to play games to get candy), so we left.

We live on a half mile long deadend road with about 15 houses that participate in Halloween. Kimani trick-or-treated them all. I did drive between every few houses, but it was a lot of walking for my kids. The evening weather was perfect… cool and clear, not at all miserably cold and wet like a normal Northeastern Halloween night. Kimani protested loudly every time her feet hit the ground, “Nooooo. No. Newooooooh.” And yet, those little feet kept moving from house to house.

At each door she waited rather patiently, sometimes saying, “I want more candy.” But the second that candy bowl was put within reach, she dove in. She did not say Trick-or-treat like Masha and Autumn did. She did not say, “Thank you and have a happy Halloween,” like Gecko did. She did squeal with displeasure when I pulled candies out of her fists and dropped them back in the bowls.

Most people on our street know us well enough and are understanding. Some neighbors even recognized how impressive her presence among her siblings was and cheered her on when she plunged into their treat bowl. But there are a few who don’t know her and aren’t disability-aware. Their looks of disapproval are difficult to shrug off. I found myself apologizing for her and explaining that this is her first year getting this far. But I didn’t want to apologize. I wanted to yell, “Look at her! Look at my girl go! She is wearing a Halloween costume, and walking up to houses, and waiting patiently at the door. She is TALKING!!!! She is happy!!! This is a certifiable miracle!”

I love that there are people out there who understand maybe that “rude” kid can’t talk, or maybe he can barely tolerate his costume or manage the coordination it takes to walk up to your door in the semi-dark. Some people realize that “rude” kid cannot self monitor when presented with a bowl of candy. They get it and they are cool about it.

Rude is a flawed concept when applied indiscriminately. Withhold that judgement and you just might find that you are a small part in big miracle.