lead

As I left a special needs round table meeting, I found a text from hubby:

I can relate to how Belac sometimes gets obsessed about mistakes/prior things and wants to just 'erase' the problem and reconfirm everything is ok.

There was an agenda passed around, today, and I was taking notes as usual. A dozen of us meet once a month, each representing various institutions, social services, and synagogues in Westchester, and plan a year of lectures and experiences for special needs families. We operate with grant and private money. The organization has been running for 7 years and has put on free and open to the public events attended by both 500 people and 5 people. I volunteer with the occasional Facebook update, take meeting notes to be distributed, shmooze at various events and contribute to discussions as basically a mom with a special needs kid.  I know nothing about money, grants, who is who or what any of the acronyms mean that always get thrown around in these circles. I'm great with faces and horrible with names. I'm the one 'lay person' among the bunch and a newbie, to boot. Suddenly, today, one of the social workers turned to me and said, Gimky, in case it's not clear, we are asking you to take the lead.

What? I exclaimed to everyone at the table, no way!!

I didn't know what I was doing either, said the founder of the group, reassuring me, and we'll help you.

I didn't know - until today - that one of the speakers costing $1600 was considered affordable. And while I agree that I know a lot, there's so much more that I don't know. I did not say yes, only that we should talk outside of the meeting.

And then before we adjourned, someone got me to tell the story about the new special needs programming at our synagogue. I told how Belac dropped in and out of Hebrew School over the years and the former principal could only shrug and claim there were limits to what a small institution could provide for kids like him. That I went to the Rabbi in exasperation, pointing out a crazy looking guy who always shows up, saying, you count him for minyan, right? Everyone counts, right? How someone else thought we needed a lot of money to start something, and how I didn't think it needed anything but a few thoughtful people and effort and an attitude change. And how now, several years later, the Rabbi and I started special needs programming at our synagogue. And while he kept telling me to not be daunted if no one came, our first service involved 11 kids and nine families. And the next service now has 18 kids and 11 families RSVPed. And while all the programming has been free and financially absorbed by me (only 100 bucks of supplies - though a lot of time), we have people who have been moved to donate money to this initiative simply because their kids are being given what they feel is a special opportunity.

That story makes me emotional, said the founder. She should get up and present at the bigger meeting, someone else said.

I realized something on my drive home. I think they want me precisely because I'm a little person, a fish out of water, trying to influence change for the sake of my son. It's not my profession, like everyone else's at the table besides the founder, instead it's the life I'm living, and that's a big difference. I am emotionally invested in a way others may not be because of their professional interests. The founder told me privately in the hallway as we were both rushing out, the best programs are run by parents, let's talk.