My son begins talking about Santa at the 4th of July parade. He puts his hand over his mouth and very quietly and reverently says “Bapa” which is how he says Santa. It is always quiet and with much concentration. Santa is serious business after all. My son is thirty-three and a believer to the core. He will never grow up. He will grow older, but will never be old. He looks at life with such wonder. Everyday holds a celebration of some sort.

What must it be like to hold each day and its possibilities in such high regard? For all of the problems that come with being disabled, my son doesn’t have any of the social filters that most of us run everything through. He doesn’t worry about money, making people mad/happy/sad, what to wear, or if he is accepted. He doesn’t halt his expressions and attitudes because they may not be popular. He wears all of his emotions on the outside. He believes in the Big Guy and he always will. He gets the same thrill every single year. Nothing ever gets tiresome.

What a way to be.

Holidays aren’t usually easy for disabled people and their families. In fact, holidays are usually very much the opposite. For a lot of people, a holiday can bring stress and ugliness; throw in a wheelchair, feeding tubes, behavior issues, verbal difficulties, oxygen, special equipment, fear, weariness, anger, frustration, etc. and you have a horrible experience that isn’t a day to celebrate but is just like every other day only with huge expectations piled on.

When my son was little and in the midst of severe seizures and frequent illnesses, I took such pleasure in celebrating a holiday; any day, in fact, that didn’t involve a seizure. It was so much fun to get caught up in the joyous atmosphere. My kids and I would sing Christmas carols in the line at the store. While others were fuming, we were just enjoying being out of the house celebrating anything. As parents do, I tried to see it all through my children’s eyes. The wonder, the excitement, the beauty.

This feeling is really rather contagious, if we would only allow ourselves to be infected. Why do we outgrow fun? Why do we outgrow adventure and wonder? Why do we let the pressure to keep up or do better to rob the moments of their joy? Why did we ever even want to stop believing in a benevolent jolly gentle man or person whose greatest pleasure is giving gifts to those around the world.

I know reality isn’t all that great for some people. I know this, but my son doesn’t. The last thing some people want to do is go back to feelings they had when they were young; but my son just keeps trucking along as if time hasn’t passed and his feelings are the same and he is pretty happy about that.

As I watch another magical time of the year encircle us, it makes me think about what would happen if we carried a bit (or a lot) of the magic into the new year. What if we didn’t let the glimmers be few and far between? What if we took special care to notice them and appreciate them? What if this time next year you were a little bit more like my Isaac in your expressions of joy; your belief in goodness; and your desire for more of it? What if you came into the miracle of Christmas with gratefulness and the realization that you have made it through every hard day you have ever faced; and maybe, just maybe, you believe. You believe in the unseen. You believe in possibilities. You believe that gifts from the heart are the very best; and memories are made by what you feel in the moment, not what you accomplished or purchased. What if….

May you feel something other than stressed.

May you see something other than the mess.

May you experience something other than the work.

May you believe.