When you start a day with happy tears in your eyes, you know it’s bound to be a good day.
The last time I saw Vell Baria, she was but a gangly, petite preteen whose vocal cords could blow away the competition with her high notes and perfect pitch. At the ASP NC, I found out that she was no longer a child but a graceful, young woman whose voice only seemed to grow stronger with time.
It’s funny how one single moment could affect the rest of your day, and for me, Vell’s song opened a floodgate of emotions — sadness, relief, happiness, gratitude — that reminded me only too well of our family’s journey with autism. When I looked around our table, I did not see a single dry eye. I didn’t feel too ashamed then to grab a tissue and dab my eyes.
And this happened each time young men and women of various abilities (young people so close to my son’s age, it seemed) performed so enthusiastically on stage. All those who witnessed their heartfelt performances cheered and clapped and hooted with joy, yet at the same time, kept swallowing back their tears. Perhaps they were tears of pride, some tears of happiness, tinged with a little wistfulness, maybe even a little longing. But I could sense that there was no heartbreak, no envy, and certainly no despair. We all rejoiced at how far our children have come.
By Okasaneko Blog
Date retireved: November 28, 2017