By Trotter Cobb
They are my heroes. These young teenagers who struggle. Watching them compete at a Special Olympics event is deeply moving. Seeing these wonderful and endearing kids put forth the most sincere effort I have ever seen is inspiring.
Even when they are in wheelchairs or grappling with other disabilities, they have just as much enthusiasm as typical kids competing in a sporting event. Maybe even more.
My son Trot, a DYRK1A guy, who just turned 21, is one of these special needs Olympians. My sense is that he and the other competitors want to feel normal, to be seen as typical kids delighting in competing against friends at a sporting event.
They may even appreciate the opportunity to do this more than a typical kid might, based on their exuberance and energy. They have passion, gumption, drive, enthusiasm and competitiveness.
They get a lot of pride from competing and being recognized by others who cheer them on. It doesn’t matter what team they are on, or what school they attend; everybody cheers for everybody.
In fact, this environment is a reflection of our DYRK1A community — where everybody cheers for everybody.
After attending many special needs sporting events over the years to root for my son and the others, I still love seeing the pride and desire to compete on the faces of the kids — and the love and pride on the faces of their parents.
For these contestants, the accolades are special; there is nothing routine or expected about the awards or trophies they take home. Every ounce of recognition they receive is celebrated by all.
And, as often is the case with my DYRK1A son, they want to hear about their events over and over — so even more pleasure comes in the retelling of their achievements and the continual celebration of their feats.
For these athletes, Special Olympic events are their opportunities to shine. They wait at the gate, well before starting time, anxious for each event to begin.
At my son’s last competition, there was one girl — probably 12 or 13 — standing at the gate anxiously, impatiently waiting her turn. I’ve developed the ability to read the facial expressions of many special needs kids over the years and I could sense she was fearful of being overlooked and missing her event.
“When is my time? When is my time?” she kept asking, despite her parents promising her she was five events away and her time would come.
Competing in the Special Olympics puts a “normal face” on situations so many DYRK1A and other special needs families find intensely challenging.
For example, I often find myself worrying about Trot’s future. However, at these events everything seems normal, at least for a few hours. My wife Anne and I become absorbed in the competition just like Trot.
When you get there and take in the atmosphere — the pageantry, the color, the crowd, the smiling faces, the cheering and the sea of kids running around — you can’t help but be happy. It is so uplifting.
I’ve watched University of Alabama football for years. Yet, nothing I have witnessed rooting for my beloved Crimson Tide moved me more than what I saw at Trot’s last Olympics.
There was a small boy, probably about 14, who before the event was incapable of controlling his arms, legs and head. He was severely challenged. Yet this all changed once his race began. This young man somehow burst into the lead, even as his body flailed.
You could tell he was giving it everything he had, trying desperately to control his legs. He was relentless, he was determined, he would not be denied. He captivated the crowd.
Coaches ran ahead to cheer him on along the sidelines. He finished third in the race. He finished first in everyone’s hearts.
He is who I will take away from Trot’s last Special Olympics, another powerful face in the chain of young heroes I have come to know over the years.
At these events, you can get a Coke or a hot dog, just like you can at any typical high school sporting event. For those few moments, all is right with the world.
Trot will be leaving this family of friends, as will we. Our family is moving on to the next age group. For years, he has competed against the same group of kids and we have gotten to know and love many of these other young people and their families.
My definition of a hero is someone who inspires me to do better.
I have never seen any special needs kids complain or cry when competing or waiting for their events to begin. They just give it their all, pushing themselves to the limit, enjoying their success.
They never seem afraid, they never seem conflicted. They always seem determined.
They are my heroes.
