Today I woke to my vibrating phone from an unknown number. I answered it, "hello?"
"Where are you, Brendan?" asked a teenage male voice, sad and curious. I recognized the voice and a big smile came to my face.
"Oh, hi Reid! Good morning! Where am I? I am in Michigan."
"When are you coming back?" he asked with even deeper sadness in his voice.
"Christmas. I'm coming back around Christmas."
"Christmas? I'll be here on Christmas! Yes I will."
"That's great Reid. Well maybe I can see you at Christmas."
The last time I saw Reid was at my apartment in Encinitas. His mom had asked me months before if I would give Reid voice lessons. I accepted, but with reservation because I had never taught anyone with autism before. I was nervous that I wouldn't be able to hold his attention or that we would get nowhere. But what a joy it ended up being! In order to teach Reid, I had to become like a child withhim. Our lessons were clumsy, loud, spontaneous, temperamental, unreasonable, silly, exclamatory, and short (most of the time). But in all that messiness, I saw a young man who astonished me. Here I was with all of my reasons for believing I was worth something because of my ability, knowledge and reputation. I was giving this kid voice lessons after all, trying to teach him technique I had honed in grad school and through years of practice. But every week Reid was singing his guts out and just being himself and he is loved by God just as much as I am.
I remember saying goodbye to Reid and knowing that I would miss him because he was beginning to change me.
So I'm lying in bed this morning alone. Rachel's gone in Lansing, training for work. My family and friends are thousands of miles away. I am without a job. And Reid gives me a wake-up call.
"Yes," Reid responds. He pauses. Then speaks, "I miss you Brendan."
"I miss you too, Reid," I smile. "Will I see you at the Christmas Eve Service?"
"I can't hear you anymore. Bye Brendan." And he hung up. I love that guy.
Love this.
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