My P.S. to Another Mother's Post (She wrote: A Message to Manhattan Moms Who See my Special Needs Child as a Disney Fast Pass)

Here's a picture of my gang, years ago.  So proud of them!

I wasn’t going to post today. Truth is, I’ve been feeling a little bit down-on-the-dumps (as my littlest one, would say).  I won’t get in to the details, but suffice it to say, being a mom of a child with special needs can be heart wrenching sometimes, and today was one of those times.

I logged in to Facebook for a moment to check on some friends.  Scrolling through, I read a post from my friend Jennie, who commented about a blog posting.

The blogger wrote a post titled A Message to Manhattan Moms Who See My Special Needs Child as a Disney Fast Pass  (click here) . In her post, she refers to an article, (click here)  titled Rich Manhattan moms hire handicapped tour guides so kids can cut lines at Disney World. 

People with disabilities are given special passes at Disney, that allow them to go to the front of the line, at different rides. Apparently, wealthy moms in Manhattan are hiring disabled people to escort them through Disney, so that the moms don't have to wait in line with their own kids, and the kids get to go right to the front.  

I know, sad. Actually more than sad.

Pathetic.  Rude. Disgusting.  Maddening. Sick. Incomprehensible. 

I had to scrape myself off the ceiling before putting my fingers to the keys, to write this post.  

I’m almost left speechless, but not totally.

The author of the blog post wrote an admirable response, (click here, again. If you didn’t read it up top … you really should), and I’d just like to add a post script to it:

P.S. Dear Entitled Manhattan Moms:

This may come as a surprise to you, but I feel sorry for you. 

Waiting is hard, isn't it? I can relate. Waiting in a line is hard work. Standing around, wondering when you're going to get to the front, getting tired, thirsty, maybe even hungry.  I mean, we've got things to do, places to go, people to see.  

I can relate to the strain of waiting.  I don’t like to wait in a line, but even more so, I don’t like to wait in life.

I didn’t like waiting in the waiting room, when I brought my son at the age of 8 months old to the ‘pre-mature baby clinic’ to see if he was developing appropriately. He wasn’t. I was told he had Cerebral Palsy.

I didn’t like waiting in too many to count doctor’s offices to see if he needed more surgeries. He did. Often.

I didn’t like waiting in therapy sessions (for 18 years total), while trying to entertain my other children, teaching them how to wait.

I didn’t like waiting in long educational meetings to see if my son would qualify for assistance. He did.

I didn’t like waiting for a phone call from his preschool, wondering if he made it through the day, without crying.

I didn’t like waiting to hear if he made a friend or fell again.

I didn’t always like waiting for him to put on his braces and shoes, eat his meal, work on his schoolwork, walk with his cane through a store, or wheel his wheelchair through the zoo.  But I did, encouraging him every step of the way.

Let’s put it this way, I’ve done a lot of waiting and some of that waiting, I’d rather not.

Honey, waiting in a line is nothing compared to the waiting I’ve done, or the waiting that other parents of children with special needs/illnesses or people with special needs/illnesses, have endured.

I’d wait in a line any day.

And as I stand here, with a son who is 19 years old, I’m still waiting. I’m waiting to see what this afternoon holds, what tomorrow holds, what the rest of his life holds.  And I’m waiting, patiently, to see what the Lord is going to continue to do in his life.

It’s not always easy to wait. Actually, it’s hard.

I feel sorry for you. I have compassion for you, because the day will come, I’m almost sure of it, when you won’t be able to buy your way to the front of the line or use someone else who is weaker than you to get your way.

I don’t know when or how, but you will find yourself in the ‘waiting room’ of life, and you just may be sorry that you didn’t use the opportunity to wait in line, to practice patience and perseverance. You may be sorry that you didn’t care for those who needed help, rather than using them to help you. Someday, you may be the one who needs help.

Yes, I feel sorry for you.  But truthfully, I feel even more sorry for your kids. They are watching their mother use others and get what she wants. I hope they learn ‘what not to do,’ by watching you. 

So, the next time you pull out your checkbook or your credit card in order to use someone for the fulfillment of your pleasure, think again.

Some day, and believe me, this day is coming, the Lord will stand in front of you and ask you to give account for your actions.

And I’ll give you a tip -- in His eyes, the first will be last, and the last will be first, and He honors those who honor the least of these.