Feel Sorry For Yourself

I know it it something we all do at times. Then something happens that slaps us hard across the face and we realize what simpering asses we have been. We suck up and move on. Although , I have not been feeling sorry for myself lately, or even for the easily remembered past, I got a slapped face this morning that brings a proper amount of shame to my conscience, for all the times I have felt sorry for myself. I have not been feeling sorry for myself, because a few years back I realized that I was pretty much blessed, for which I am grateful. I have wife, children, dog, roof, car, arthritic knee that still carries me around pretty good, work, food (too much , it seems , judging from the scale) and a whole lot that is good, sure we have all the regular crap but less and less does that stuff cause woe is me moments. Oh, woe is me the furnace it out now becomes a joyful moment to light a fire in the fireplace. But this morning, I sat in on what is referred to as an individualized education plan meeting. That is where the parent of a special needs child learns how the school district intends to deal with and proposes to educate the child of the parent for the next year. The child is ineducable in the traditional sense , the school knows it, the parent knows it. But the staff, the administration and the support players all came in and demonstrated their resolve to try. The parent told them that he may need to send his child elesewhere, and at that I thought the teachers would start to cry, for they have a bond with this special child, they have thrown themselves on the spear to help this child, they want for nothing more than that which is best for the child. The father, wants what is best for his child, but he knows that he must pull out all the stops. He fears instituationalization for his child should he not be there. These people are sainted and by their goodness and their equanimity in bearing up under the burden of helping the helpless they slapped me awake. And what a burden it is. Next time I want to indulge the luxury of a little more than a momentary whine, I will think of the Dad, and the teachers who cried over his child. What special people.