High Five

John high-fived everybody. This is the story of his greatest one.

The fact that John had Down syndrome made him the special person that he was. He always walked the hallways of our school with an air of confidence, and at times it bordered on braggadocio. If you didn’t know John, you might ask, “Who does this kid think he is, the mayor?” He shouted hello to anyone and everyone that came his way. For me he always reserved something special, a “high five”. Whenever we would meet, I would say, “Hey, John!” and he would respond, “Hey, coach!” (I was the school’s soccer coach.) and then we would both reach up as high as we could and slap our hands together with great enthusiasm. It was always a memorable moment.

John’s father was a great dad and he wanted only the best for his son. He wanted John to fit into the mainstream and participate as much as he could in the school environment. He requested it, he demanded it, and he usually got it. Back at that time, special education was only a blip on the scholastic radar. Someone once told me, “If you don’t advocate for your child, then who will?” I believe in that philosophy and so did John’s father. As a result of his efforts, John was able to participate in two school sports, wrestling and football. I can still remember John struggling in the boys locker room while trying to get on his football equipment. The head coach came up with a brilliant strategy to assist John with this arduous task. He selected the biggest star on the team and he asked him to become John’s assistant. This boy, the team captain, would stay with John and assist him when necessary. There was something very special about watching the star player assist the neediest player on the team. It was a beautiful thing to watch and I do believe that it was mutually beneficial for both boys. The ancient Romans had an interesting way of welcoming home victorious generals. As the general was paraded through the streets on a golden chariot, a servant would ring a tiny bell and whisper in his ear, “Remember, you are only a mortal.” Today, we call this being grounded. To this boy’s credit, he took hold of his new responsibility and ran with it like a true champion. This coach knew what he was doing both on and off the field. Unless we forget, it is important to remember that John was more than just an athlete, he was the mayor. When his pads were on and his jersey and helmet were in place, he would give the captain a high five and run out of the locker room. Once he was out in the light of day, John would strut (not walk) across the field and you could sense his pride. From a distance, you might mistake him for Joe “Willie” Namath.

My soccer team played and practiced right alongside the football field. This made it easy for me to keep an eye on John as the season progressed. It was on the last home game of the season that John and his coach provided me with one of my greatest sports memories ever. The football team was winning the game by a score of 28-0. The coach easily could have run up the score, but instead he allowed his third-string squad to play for the second half. The score was now 28 to 14. He had given the opponents a chance to win back their pride and self-esteem. The two coaches (I learned after the game) had spoken together at halftime. The final score would remain 28 to 14 (a respectable game for both teams), but one more play would be run. John was to be given the ball and allowed to run for a touchdown. He was, of course, unaware of any special arrangement. As far as John was concerned, it was business as usual, and the coach wanted him on the field. “The coach needs me!” he shouted to his father who was sitting in the bleachers. John was given the ball and he ran for at least 40 yards into the end zone. The crowd went wild, and John jumped up and down with his hands raised high over his head. He high-fived anyone and everyone, it really didn’t matter. Fans, teammates, and even the opponents joined in the celebration. I shot a quick glance to the bleachers and I could see John’s father wiping tears of joy from his eyes. He applauded his son, the pride and joy of his life, and shouted over and over, “Way to go, John! Way to go!” It was at the end of this moment when I realized that he was not the only one crying. I dried my eyes and continued to clap my hands.

If ever there was a win-win situation on the athletic field, this was it! The emotional impact of the moment stays with me to this very day. It was with great sadness that I heard (several years after this day) that John’s father had passed away. I am so glad that they shared the special moment together, and I am so glad that I was there to see his father’s pride in a very special son.