In well-meaning moments of empathy, friends and acquaintances often offer up an "I'm sorry" for another's (sometimes assumed) pain. I wrote about that here, in regards to recent events in my Life. A Facebook comment about my daughter reminded me that, again, well-meaning strangers, even, offer up sympathies when our children's lives don't fit the model that society identifies as perfect or "normal."

Walking Radnor Lake recently, my daughter and a friend and I encountered a group of young adults with developmental disAbilities. We knew the group. Most were also members of a social organization to which my daughter belongs. Each young person in the way that they were capable, greeted my daughter, who in turn, expressed her happiness about encountering her friends with intermittent signs of a bashful ducked head and covered eyes; a big, bright smile; sweet, happy sounds and flapping her hands and rocking. As an observer, I wondered what others seeing the group might think. That may sound like I'm projecting, but as any parent of a child with a noticeable disAbility will tell you, seeing other people notice or stare at your differently abled child is just a given. It happens. Often. (See my 2008 "Journey with Grace" "Every Autism Parent Has A Wal-Mart Story" post.) Plus, there were passersby that day at the park.

But, sorry? No, seeing these young people was the height of unadulterated Joy. Oh, to be so free.

When "sorry" is offered up to our differently abled children, the point is missed. These children, these special individuals with perhaps "souls too large for their bodies" (an aboringinal belief), bring a purity, an innocence, an opportunity to serve, a tremendous chance to learn tolerance and abundant lessons to be taught.

Sorry? No, again. Yes, it's difficult. Again, hell, yeah! But, these lives different from our own cannot and should not be reduced to pity. No parties for pity here. I'm RSVP-ing: "No." Permanently. Instead: I'm hosting celebrations that I am so blessed to be so challenged and so stretched and so gifted with something so wonderfully different. In humility, I offer up: Thank. You. Thank you.