I was assigned as a “floater” in one of my jobs which meant that I filled in for any para-pro who was absent. One day I had to fill in for a one-on-one aide who helped a sixth grade boy I will call “P” who needed an automated wheel chair to get around. He could speak, and socially, he was close to grade-level, but “P” was academically behind his classmates. Therefore, there were times during the day that it was okay for me to bring him into the reading room and read to him. While in there, I saw another of my students, a second grader, crying uncontrollably outside of my room.
Of course, I asked him what was wrong. He had a split lip which was swollen and looked sore, but he was more upset because the nurse had just told him that he had to sit out at recess and that he “could not play at all.” Remembering what a teacher I knew had once told me—that sometimes a child just needs a place to be–I invited the child to join the other boy in our classroom during his recess time. The reading specialist had set up a corner of the room with books and bean bag chairs. The younger student sat and read while I read to the older student. I told him that if “P” didn’t mind going to recess a little late, we could all go out together. “P” said that he did not mind.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the younger child looking at “P.” Since they were at far different grade levels, it is not likely that they had ever had any contact with each other. There were several thoughts going through my mind, and I hoped that the younger child would understand a few things. First, that while he could not play for one or two days, “P” would never be able to play in the way that a healthy child could. Second, that “P” was perfectly willing to give up some of his recess time so that this younger boy could go outside precisely in time for his lunch bell to ring. He would not have to face the playground because of “P’s” kindness.
Once outside, the younger boy went straight in for lunch, and “P” and I looked for his brother. “P” said to his brother in a sympathetic voice that he was late for recess because there was a boy “who could not play at all.” This child, who had so many obstacles, did not think of his inability to play as others could as a disability at all. He was so caring toward the younger child that his empathy surpassed any thought of himself.
Years later, I am sure that “P” may have forgotten all about it. After all, being kind was second-nature to him. He would not have thought of his compassion as anything extraordinary, but I still remember; and I hope that the younger child will remember the day “he could not play at all” as a good one because of the kindness of the boy in the wheelchair.