Page 65 - You - South Africa (February 2020)

mostmoms,mychildmeanseverything There’s one boy, though, so bundled
tome.She’sthesunandmoonrolledinto into a checked coat and gloves he can
one and I’d give her the world, if I had it. hardly move his arms. He looks a little
“ ‘I’d do anything for my kids.’ We all olderthanLucy,Iguess,andI’mbegging
claim that, don’t we,” I think, as we slip for him to stay, that his mom won’t take
out the front door, my hand linked in one look at Lucy and make an excuse to
Lucy’s gloved fingers. Yet, rarely, is that leave. You see, I love her playing with
vow put to the test for us parents. other children on a one-to-one basis.
She’s so friendly and it makes her day
HROUGH the creaky gate, whentheytalktoher,althoughmoreof-
then left along Brickfield ten than not they don’t.
Lane we set off to Lollipop It’s all very PC, the world we live in
Park. It’s not really called now. Everyone makes soundbites about
that; it’s Lucy’s name for it “inclusion” and how “everyone’s the
T because she thinks the trees same” and “every child matters”. And all
that edge the tarmac path the people who claim this
look like giant lollipops. I’m begging really do mean it until it ex-
With their whopping head that the boy’s tends to inviting Lucy to a
of branches and spindly party or around to theirs for
trunks, I think she’s got a mom won’t aplaydateorlettingherjoin
point. take one look in their soccer game. Fed on
Lollipop Park isn’t flashy at Lucy and a diet of prejudices, they shy
like the one they have in make an awayasifshe’saleperrather
town by the museum which than just special.
has monkey bars and a excuse to leave There are spits of rain in T same condition. She had
climbingframe.No,Lollipop the air but I take a chance
Park is just a spread of grass with a few and sit next to the woman on the bench
benches, swings and a slide. Oh, and a who I assume is the boy’s mom. She’s
mock pirate ship. But it’s a useful space Kindle-busy. I know that vibe. The one
and if I pick the right time, it’s quiet thatsays,“Pleasedon’ttalktome.Iwant
there. youtothinkI’mtoopreoccupiedtochat.”
It’s better for Lucy to play when it’s “Hello,” I say, ignoring her body lan-
quiet. guage as I peel away a strand of greying
Rain has been falling overnight, mak- curls blowing across my mouth. “Are we
ing the grass “slide-y”. Still holding inforanotherdownpour,doyouthink?”
hands, we make toddler-slow progress. I hold out my hand as if I can judge
It’s probably too damp and cold to go how soon the heavens will open by
this afternoon but I’m drivenbytheneed catching the drops in my palm.
to take Lucy out to play beforethewinter The woman doesn’t answer; I’m not
really claims the summer. surprised so I concentrate my attention
I always feel this guilt, coupled with a back on Lucy. She’s toddled over to the
desire to do as much as I canforher.You pirate ship where the boy is running up
see, I’m baking in blame – of course,Iam and down, without purpose, as if he’s on
– every time I drown in her trustingeyes speed.Heseesher,stops,then,fullofim-
and marvel at her lopsided grin. She’s portance, spins the steering wheel for
everything to me and yet I can’thelpfeel- her.
ing I’ve let her down. I’m sure everyone IbreathethesighofreliefIhadn’treal-
else thinks it too, and that makesmefeel ised I’d been holding. He hasn’t noticed
worse. and neither has his mom. Yet.
At times I want to shout, “I didn’tmean “Hope it doesn’t rain,” she suddenly
it. I just wanted a child to love. A chance says, looking up. “Got my sheets on the
to have a family before . . .” line.Althoughbadweathertendstokeep
people away from the park.”
E’VE reached the iron “Ilikeitherewhenit’squiettoo,”Iblurt
gates at Lollipop Park out, delighted she’s answered me.
and I can see straight “Bendoesn’tplayeasilywithotherchil-
away that there aren’t dren.” She lays her e-reader on her lap.
many children here “Especially when he’s excited.”
Wtoday. The weather’s “Lucy does . . . when she gets the
bleak and the small play enclosure is al- chance.”
most empty. “She’s not at school yet?”
The dread that she’ll be ignored – or
worse – hides behind my answer.
“No – not yet.”
Tottering after her new friend, Lucy
waves to me and the woman I’m sitting
with.
“Adorable,” she says, before adding,
quietly, “Downs?”
Her question is so gentle, so natural, I
nod. I wait for the tinge of accusation,
but it doesn’t come.
Down syndrome is a disability where
the mother’s age can be a contributing
factor. Sometimes I feel I should wear a
T-shirt proclaiming, “Please don’t judge.
I didn’t deliberately fall pregnant at 47
althoughI’mverygladIdid.Justloveher
– as I do.”
HE wind rustles the leaves
on the trees and I shiver,
almost not catching her
words.
“My cousin’s son has the
himwhenshewastwenty-twoanddidn’t
know where to turn. But Adam’s done
well. He’s got a job in a supermarket. He
hasagirlfriendandtheyliveinaflatwith
a carer who calls in once a day.”
The rain decides then to land in large
splodgesonthepathandmixeswithmy
tears as the sun pops out at the same
time, looking like a clean knife left on a
dirty plate.
We both call the children over to
shelter.
“Look, Mommy – there’s a rainbow!”
Lucy lisps.
Shepointsitouttohernewfriendand
they stand in wonder.
For a moment, I can’t see it – only the
grey clouds – but then I’ve seen lots of
rainbows in my time. I suppose I’ve
stopped thinking they’re unique. But
then I spot it – a perfect Technicolor
arch.
ThroughmytearsIfeelwarmedbythe
hope this woman is offering, and inside
mesomethingischanging.Anewunder-
standing.Hersisterwasyoungwhenher
child was born. It happens . . .
Lucy’s like this rainbow. Special but
not that unusual.
Like this little boy.
Like his cousin Adam.
Blamespoilsthings.Itmakesyoucon-
centrate only on the grey skies and lose
sightoftherainbows.Andyet,they’reall
special. They really, truly are. S
©TESS NILAND KIMBER
you.co.za 6 FEBRUARY 2020 | 63