On a sweet, sunny spring morning, I arrived at Canterbury Park Racetrack in Shakopee, MN, for the Autism Walk. Seared in my memory was the following encounter.
Grandpa (by appearance, not by relation) was taking small, stubborn steps, and I waited … holding the door open for him, as he ambled with his stoop through the doors of the Canterbury Park Racetrack’s lobby, where the registration for the Autism Walk had commenced in earnest
What would bring a man—deserving leisure more than labor—walking on three to such a clamorous place, I had to wonder? “The capriciousness of fate had chosen my grandson,” Grandpa said. “He has autism.”
Grandpa, a Midwestern upright folk, turned around to hide a tear, and continued taking his slow, stubborn steps with his cane, stoop and all.
The old man seemed to have heard the doubtful whispers of my mind: I always questioned if I were making any difference by attending such events. But not Grandpa, with life’s wisdom behind him, he knew that small, virtuous acts could affect change.
Mother Teresa, a legion of compassion, once said, “If you can’t feed a hundred, then just feed one.”
I hope you enjoyed the post, and thank you for stopping by.