From the Mayor's Desk

The place was full of people, as usual. Even though it was 5:30 on a Tuesday night, Chuck-E-Cheese's was starting to fill up. We paid for our pizza, and headed for the "show" area where mechanical, animated figures perform song and dance routines every ten to fifteen minutes. I was just walking along, minding my own business, looking for a place to sit, and then I saw him.
The place was full of people, but he was all I could see. A little boy, that I will call "Chucky", sat in a reclined wheel chair and watched. Watched the countless other kids running, laughing and playing games. Watching parents looking high and low for their kids because the pizza was getting cold. And while he was watching them, I was watching him with a pit in my stomach, the kind you feel when you've seen something you wish you hadn't.
And the reason, I guess, I was wishing I hadn't seen him was the initial guilt I felt, guilt that was quickly swallowed up by a feeling of thankfulness that of the many healthy, happy kids running throughout the play area, four were mine.
I looked at him looking at all of them and realized how petty we can be. The last article I wrote described my dislike for winter, and here is someone who will likely never have the chance to run through snow, go sledding or have a snowball fight.
He was a beautiful little boy, probably three years old. And as I watched, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking, "why me"? I couldn't blame him if he was, but he likely wasn't.
And I began wondering if this was right - should his parents even take him somewhere with so much fun and excitement to be had, but mainly by kids with legs that can support them? If I were in that position, I don't know what I'd do. Do you shield him from the world or expose him to it all, even the things that could break his little heart? I am truly amazed at the moms and dads of these kids - that they are able to go to these places without hating the world. They say everything happens for a reason, but sometimes that must be a mighty hard pill to swallow.
So I shook myself from all of these thoughts and hung up our coats, tucked away the shoes and went to find my family amongst the ski ball machines and air hockey tables. A while later I went to check to see if our food was ready, and it was. And much to my surprise, Chucky, who had been sitting only a few tables away, wasn't in his chair. I got excited - maybe things aren't as bad as I thought? Maybe I've been running all of these scenarios through my mind and he's fine? Maybe the chair is used following a surgery or injury of some kind that it is only temporary?
Unfortunately, the answer was no. I spotted him on his mother's lap. They appeared to be there for a birthday party, maybe Chucky's little sister? Who knows. If I had known for certain it was his birthday, I'd have went up to the counter and bought him something nice. However, I doubt a ball or backpack with a picture of a cartoon mouse on it was going to make either of us feel any better.
They were still there when we left. I have no idea what his real name was, what has brought him to be where he is today or what his future will bring. But I know for certain that I will never forget him.
There are little slivers of time in each of our lives that change us forever. For me, this was one of those moments. I may no longer run very fast, but I can run. Maybe I cannot throw a ball as far or as fast as I would like to, but I can throw. And though I cannot jump like Michael Jordan, I am so thankful to say that I can jump.
The place was full of people, but he was all I could see.
God bless you, little Chucky.