And therein lies the catch 22 of having a child with special needs.  In the best possible way – our children are always under a microscope. Every movement, every look, every act of behavior is dissected and examined in order to ensure that the most effective options for treatment are employed…but the flip side – our children are always under a microscope. There must be a discussion and interpretation of everything. We are always zooming in to get a closer look. You know in middle school science class, when you turn the dials of the microscope to adjust the onion cell slide – there is a point just after you reach the clearest image that if you turn the dial the tiniest bit more – it becomes blurry again.With all the good intentions of staff members and therapists – their poking,prodding, and willingness to look at every angle – they sometimes turn the dial waaay past the point of clarity, so as parents, we are left in a slightly blurred and confused state.

I get confused when they tell me Amichai occasionally cries after drop-off in the morning. He’s five, he’s allowed. I get confused when they tell me each day as Amichai enters the classroom, he first looks around –surveying the scene, making note of which friends have already arrived. He then carefully chooses a game or toy he wishes to play with. This seems like something I would do – getting a lay of the land and then making a well-thought-out decision. I get confused when they tell me that Amichai has a strong preference to the color red. Fire trucks are red. Apples are red.Superman’s cape is red. All things that Amichai loves. I wonder what I’m supposed to do with this information. And then I wonder, even in these days of hyper/helicopter parenting – are these the issues that are brought up with other parents whose children are in a mainstream educational framework?

When I was in second grade, there was a rumor going around one morning. Nostradamus had predicted the world was going to end that very day. I got myself so worked up that the teacher sent me to the school nurse/lunch lady. She called my Mom at home – she wasn’t there. Seeing that I was in a bit of a state, they called my Dad at work…a big declaration of urgency in those days. He was on his way. It is one of my father’s greatest joys in life to remind me of this moment. He imitates me with precision. He describes walking into the school office and seeing a blonde pig tailed kid on the edge. I look at him with a bit of crazy in my eyes and just begin to hysterically blurt out in a high-pitched squeak – the world is going to end, the world is going to end! My father was half amused, and half flabbergasted that his child would believe such illogical nonsense. He calmed me down, took me back to his office and periodically would reassure me – you see, the world is still here. The thing is, I had a major meltdown and the school seemed to be ok with it. I don’t even think my teacher called to make sure I was alright.  Everyone recognized I was a little kid, I got scared – end of story. The only reason we still talk about is because my father likes to laugh at my expense.

But a child with special needs isn’t always given the benefit of the doubt as I was of just being a little kid. And I get it –overlooking or ignoring can be gravely irresponsible. The thing is though, Amichai has so much on his plate – can we leave off anything? I always think that he is the hardest working five-year-old on the planet. Physically there are challenges he tackles every day with grace and resilience. But there are emotional challenges which I am just starting to appreciate. Amichai started meeting with a child psychologist who is helping us work through these challenges. The psychologist explained to me that children like Amichai – hemis – are very aware of the differences between the two sides of their body. One side is completely functional, the other is not. Emotionally, this can put a child at odds with himself – leaving him feeling completely capable at times and then confused and frustrated at others. I’ve never seen this outright frustration with Amichai, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there. It’s a legitimate experience and one that I want Amichai to feel free to express as well as develop a narrative that gives him confidence in his abilities. It is an essential piece in his overall emotional well being and development.

As if learning to cope with CP isn’t enough, another goal of the therapy is to give Amichai the necessary tools to deal with the unfortunate tensions a child of divorce experiences. Amichai needs his own set of skills and system of managing the stresses. To be clear, I have no regrets. I feel secure in the choices I have made. I feel secure in knowing that our lives are better because of those choices. And while there are moments when I wish I could take all these challenges and put them on my shoulders, I also know that Amichai is not a child to pity. While the matters can be complex and intricate, addressing the issues head on is the only way to go. Amichai is getting what he needs in order to gain a healthy perspective. This too is an essential piece in his overall emotional well being and development.

Still, it’s a lot on his plate. Like I said – the hardest working kid I know. And maybe it’s a lot on my plate too. Raising a child is hard – hands down the hardest work I have ever done. And perhaps raising a child with special needs is a tad harder. The needs are real and intense. They keep you up at night sometimes, worries and concerns that never shut off. When the smallest of issues are raised, issues that would normally be waived off as kid stuff, that parent is left wondering in her mind what more can I do? Maybe for our own sanity as parents, there are things that can and should be overlooked.A child with special needs is first a child. So, when I see that Amichai has an obsession for all things red or my friend complains that her two-year-old son isn’t sleeping – can you just give us this one? Don’t waste your time trying to bring these issues into focus too. For one moment let the parents be (regular?) parents, and let the kids be kids.

My grandfather passed away last year on Chanukah – one month shy of his 90^th birthday. He had been struggling for weeks and I was prepared, or as prepared as I could be. I had one last conversation with him and said goodbye – whatever that may mean. Still like my grandmother, the news of his death left me breathless and then left me empty. As I sat waiting for my flight back to the states, I read some thoughts on Chanukah to distract me from the emptiness. My grandfather was always up for a laugh and the last thing he would want was me sitting broken, staring out into space and letting the nothingness consume me. I came upon an article that resonated deeply and has stuck with me since.

The author of the article explores the concept of miracles –what constitutes such an event and how we assign meaning to it in our lives. He relies on the philosophies of Rav Soloveitchik to define the essence of a miracle. Rav Soloveitchik taught that, “it is not always necessary for an event to be miraculous in order to be great, and not every miraculous event is a great event.” A miracle doesn’t have to be supernatural or awe inspiring. A miracle simply needs to be seen. When you see something – peer down deep below the surface and recognize the significance of it, that you have no choice but to change because of it – than that event is a miracle. The author explains that the real miracle of Chanukah wasn’t the victory of the few over the many, the weak over the strong or even a days’ worth of oil lasting eight – the miracle was that the Jews saw it, they internalized it and were changed because of it.

As I read this, I thought about my own relationship with my grandfather. While not miraculous, it certainly was a gift that I know was unique.Some of my most vivid and happiest memories are with him and my grandmother. I had to acknowledge that gift – be thankful for the impact it had on my life and how I was changed because of it. I thought about how many people we meet in our lives, how many events we witness, how many experiences we amass. Were they all miracles? I thought that if the actual event of a miracle is somewhat inconsequential, then the awe inspiring or supernatural component must really be up to us – are we capable of seeing it, are we willing to see it. And conversely, how much are we missing?

I know before Amichai was born, I missed almost everything.When I was pregnant, I thought I got it – I mean there was a life growing inside of me, you would think it’s kind of hard to miss – but I did. Doctor appointments would come and go – everything was good, everything was standard.I didn’t see that everything being standard was actually a miracle. And I think most parents-to-be are like this. Technology and modern medicine have tricked us into believing that the creation of life is quite ordinary – even mundane.Millions of women are pregnant each year. No big deal. It was only after the fact, when I found myself in the NICU – watching Amichai fight, watching other babies fight – and sometimes lose – that I started to see, that I started to appreciate the complexity of it all, that I started to understand the miracle.

And I started to see even more when the doctors told me Amichai had suffered a stroke. Come again? They said this was not standard.Thanks. But the thing is, even as they kept saying the injury was significant,that he has CP, that most statistics point toward a life of disability, that it would be hard, that they could understand feelings of disappointment and even failure– the whole time the one constant thought in my head was – but he survived. The doctors themselves kept hounding on the fact that adults would not have survived such a dramatic injury; yet, here was my kid – alive,breathing on his own, kicking, eating, and gripping my fingers tightly –holding me up as much as I was holding him. The challenges ahead were scary,unknown, and daunting – so much so that in the days and weeks to follow I experienced anxieties I never knew existed – but in that moment – why couldn’t the obvious be seen? He survived. From that point forward, I simply refused to shut my eyes, and there was a clarity of vision within the darkness.

I would not wish any parent to go through the trauma which we experienced, but oddly I feel fortunate precisely because of it. The miracle in the trauma was that it forced me to take notice, it forced me to see that there is greatness in the mundane, and it forced me to see extraordinary effort in every day accomplishments.  Amichai is hemiplegic which means that he has high muscle tone that runs down his right side. His most challenging aspect is the use of his right arm and hand. At three months, he started physical therapy. One of the first exercises I worked with him on was having him lie on his back and reach for a toy with his right arm. I would do victory laps when he would reach up and tap the ball. Pure happiness. I have thousands (literally) of videos and pictures just of Amichai reaching up. And a thousand more when he started to grip objects with his right hand. And yet still more when he started weight bearing on his right arm. When he started crawling. When he stood up for the first time on his own. I don’t even need the video – I can close my eyes and see him slowly getting up, a little wobbly, a little unsure about what it is he’s actually doing – and then he’s up – laughing uncontrollably, smiling with pride. All parents I imagine experience this same excitement, but it was so momentous for me because I had come to understand that these milestones aren’t a given, that sometimes they are anything but standard… I can hear myself laughing with him. Celebrating with him.

And still today, every time Amichai opens a draw with his right hand or walks down the stairs consecutively – even jumping off the last step – these are major moments of celebration. We dance, we give each other high fives, we do a victory lap together. I hope our enthusiasm never wanes. My database of pictures continues to grow. Every day moments that have been elevated. And if I don’t always notice at first, Amichai is certain to point it out. We will invariably always be rushing around in the morning, trying desperately to get out the door. He will stand there in front of me – holding a shoe in each hand. Come on, I say – we are late. And he still stands there, not moving. Finally, I figure it out – Two hands! Yes, you did it! And then he starts laughing uncontrollably, smiling with pride because he knows – he knows these aren’t givens. These are miracles.

Amichai taught me how to see them.

I loved everything about this interaction. I loved that she was staring at his brace for a while. Staring isn’t always bad – kids should take notice of something out of the ordinary. I’m assuming she had never seen a brace or maybe not close-up like that, and she was just glancing with curiosity. I am not saying to gawk or point, but it is ok to be aware of the people surrounding you…and if something looks different – ask. And she did just that. A genuine inquiry, a request for information. We can sometimes fear what we don’t know, but if we don’t ask, that fear can just fester and grow irrationally. She just wanted to know and understand. I also loved that her Mom gave her the freedom to ask. Parents are often on edge that their children will somehow offend with inappropriate questions or comments.  She was not shushed, quieted, or told its none of her business. And lastly, I loved her reaction – cool. She didn’t see disability or difficulty. She just saw the brace for what it is, thought it was pretty rockin and then said goodbye to her new friend Amichai.

It was a scene straight out of a Mr. Rogers episode. Real warm and fuzzy. But is this reality? Can I expect that all interactions will be pleasant teaching moments? And what happens if they’re not – how do I prepare Amichai?

My belief that Amichai is child with immense capabilities is not just hyperbole. I know – I know, he can do anything. He has shown time and time again that a physical limitation will not stop him. I know this, I feel it, I live it with everything I am. But as much as I can instill this belief in Amichai, to continue developing and cultivating it within him – I also know that I cannot control how other people react, what other people will say. I remember sitting in the lounge area outside the NICU after Amichai was diagnosed. It was all very tranquil – the sunlight poured in through the rounded glass windows overlooking the Jerusalem forest. I wanted to scream into the forest. My parents – ever the cheerleaders, were pumping me up. You can do this – you were trained for this moment. He can do this. He will do this. Nothing will stop him – you know this. I did. I didn’t even know Amichai yet, but I knew this. Still, I found myself suddenly blurting out – yes but kids are cruel! I was expressing a dark fear I hadn’t even wanted to say out loud because I didn’t want to give it credence: What if kids make fun of him because he’s different? My parents looked at me with shock. It’s a look I recognized from my teenage years when my sisters and I would purposely say something which would gravely disappoint and set them off…my younger sister seemed to have real knack for this, still does. Oh Gd. I’m in trouble. Where is this coming from?! Who told you that?! Why would you even say something like that? Who taught you to think like that? We didn’t teach you to think like that.

I think my parents’ reaction was based on a few different factors. First, my parents taught us to be understanding and accepting people. Cruel behavior toward others and making disparaging remarks about anyone is simply wrong. Any upstanding parent teaches his child the same. Second, they taught us to know who you are and stand tall. If someone would ever make disparaging remarks toward us – well, that’s their problem. Don’t let the words or behavior of others bring you down. Third, I think my parents were trying to slow me down. Amichai was just a few days old. Let’s not jump to any crazy conclusions or imagine unwritten scenarios. And lastly, I think they were probably activating their own parental instincts to protect their child and tell me bad things won’t happen. If I wanted to protect Amichai from all the evils in the world, they were doing the same.

But they know the reality. My parents raised four children and while they wouldn’t categorically define kids as cruel (I wouldn’t either!), they know sometimes there is at least one kid who says one stupid and thoughtless thing. Even if you have raised the most confidant of children, that can still be scary for a parent because you know it will hurt. Your child will hurt.  I’ve been there as a kid. I’ve even been there as an adult, and I don’t think it was easier for my parents to watch regardless of my age. But there can be something elevating in that moment. It’s not that I would ever want Amichai to be in a situation where he is Gd forbid bullied or made to feel less than what he is. That is categorically wrong and intolerable. But an inevitable encounter with some jerk at some point in time? It will happen. Instead of fearing these moments, what if we embraced them? What if we used them to learn about who we really are? Do I really believe in me? Everything that I was taught, everything that my parents tried to instill in me about who I am, my infinite strength, my infinite worth – do I believe it? Am I going to truly stand tall or am I going to let this jerk get to me? You must make a conscious choice to rely on your own truths and filter out the noise. These might be unpleasant situations, and I hope that one does not need to face them again and again, but they are breeding ground for character building.

Protecting your child comes in so many different forms. I will never put Amichai in a situation that is harmful or dangerous – be that physically or emotionally. But protection also comes in the form of giving your children the right tools to face the world. So, in the same way my parents taught me, I will continue to cultivate his confidence and belief in himself. I will continue to instill him with the knowledge that his strength comes from within and that is priceless. I won’t pray for the day Amichai encounters a jerk, but if he ever does – I’ll pray he has the proper perspective and uses it as stepping stool for greatness…and equally important, I’ll also pray that society continues to evolve – that differences are seen, understood, and appreciated. I will pray that more little kids stop, stare, ask, and then see Amichai for what he is – another friend.

She fought hard when the cancer came – not that anyone expected anything differently. She even beat it twice, but the third time was too much. She was in her eighties when she passed away. Her death left me immensely sad and broken for a long time. I miss her deeply every day – but I also know it was not tragic. She lived a long life. And even as the emptiness came over me when I learned that she had gone – realizing that now I would have to live in a world without her, I knew I was lucky because my memories are vast and never ending. My life will always remain intimately interwoven with hers.

Strength is a profound gift in life. My Mom-Mom had it. Physically, she was imposing – larger than life. Even as she aged, she still towered over me. She wore big gold rings on her fingers and Oprah style diamonds. As kids and even still as adults, my sisters and I used to try on her jewelry…but we could never pull it off. The rings were oversized, the diamonds too heavy on our ears. Only Mom-Mom could really carry the bling.  Mom-Mom was vibrant, she was youthful, she was a leader, she was extremely loving, and she was never afraid to tell you like it is. And Mom-Mom was a rock. The trials and tribulations would come. Mom-Mom just took it – never complaining, never faltering.

There is no doubt that my grandmother got her strength from her own mother – her name was Sarah (that is my middle name and I carry with pride). In our family though, she is simply known as Bubby. A picture of Bubby used to hang in my grandparents’ house and it now sits on the shelf in my parents living room. Bubby is sitting tall and straight, staring the camera down, no smile – as if to say – try me. It is the pose of a defiant woman. A woman whose husband deserted her and her three small kids in the 1930s. A woman who would go hungry for days but always make sure there was food on the table for her children. A woman who worked in a sweat shop sewing buttons on hats, and when the conditions in that sweat shop became unbearable, she worked to organize one of the first women’s union in the Philadelphia area. She was a woman who probably couldn’t afford gold or diamonds, but just as well because she had no use for them.  Stand tall, stand firm, do not give an inch.

When my Mom-Mom passed away, Amichai was just about a year old and I was still struggling in my marriage. She knew it too – not because I told her but because she knew me, and she saw that I was gone. I was in the states about 3 weeks before she passed away, and one of the last things she told me in person, her finger pointed squarely in my face, was – We support you. But I felt more than anything that I was letting her down, that I was letting Bubby down. I was marring their legacy. It was as if I heard Bubby screaming at me – you are wasting your namesake! Get up and stand tall! I couldn’t bare to even glance at that picture of her anymore – it was like she was looking right through me, shaking her head in disgust. And now, I would have to contend with both women screaming at me from above…

But I knew they weren’t really mad or disappointed – more than anything, they were just hurting for me, knowing that as much as they wanted, they couldn’t solve this one. Not them, not my parents, not my sisters, not my friends. Just me. I imagine one of the most frustrating parts of parenthood is seeing your child hurt and knowing you can’t fix it. I’m still at the stage with Amichai where he looks to me to restore the chaos…but the day will come where all I can offer is my support and love and watch him solve the problem. And the truth is, that’s what being an adult is all about. Hopefully parents and mentors have imparted their children with the proper tools and examples, but its all you. You have to figure it out, you have to deal with it on your own time and on your own terms. (A very good friend told me bluntly – we let you make your own decisions before, I’m not letting this go on anymore. I love her for the friend she is and the brutal honesty she brought, but I had to take ownership of this myself…which she knew, kinda…)

I did indeed deal with it on my own time and my own terms. It was a process, but if there was one moment that triggered all of it, when I knew I had to make changes, it was when I was putting Amichai to bed one night. I looked at him and I thought, if I stay – he will never know me. All he will know is this shadow that I barely recognized. That shook me to my core. He didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve that. It clicked, and just like that I reclaimed my strength. It still took time, but once I realized that my strength will not be distinguished or diminished – that it was inside of me and it could not be taken, I was able to move forward. I worked with experienced counselors to help map out the road I would travel. I had the tremendous support and love from family and friends. And when the day came for me to say that I was leaving, that this simply could not go on – as scary and difficult as that was – it was also a shining moment. I stood tall, I stood firm and I did not falter.

Strength is a profound gift in life. And I am certain that two tough ladies are resting a little easier…

Last week, Donald Trump hosted the U.S 2018 Winter Olympic and Paralympic team at the White House. He acknowledged their hard work and great accomplishments. He gave specific praise to the Paralympians and referred to their athletic performances as “inspiring.” He almost had it. He almost pulled it off. And then he said it…“its a little too tough to watch too much” of the Paralympics. Oh man.

In the interest of being fair, Trump’s team has said the comment was referencing his busy schedule. As much as he wanted, he found it “tough” to find the time to watch all of the Paralympic events. Ok. Even if this is true, most people were shocked, outraged, stunned, appalled, offended…pick whatever adjective you want. When I saw this, I drew upon the always reliable WTF…Amichai was obviously not in my presence…If he had been, I would have busted out my mom’s preferred way to curse without cursing in front of the kids – SUCKER!

The thing is – if we put aside the alarming insensitive nature of his comments, if we casually put aside the fact that he’s the leader of the free world and should have enough awareness to use some sort of internal filter, if we put aside the dark and disturbing fact that he has made fun of  a disabled reporter  – maybe Trump is inadvertently helping? Maybe he is providing a platform to confront our own feelings and perceptions about disability and how that makes us feel. Perhaps in his supremely oblivious ignorance, he opened a window and it is upon us – the rightfully shocked, outraged, stunned…etc. – to honestly climb through it.

I’ll go first.

I’ve referenced my athletic past. My childhood, adolescence, adulthood – fine my entire life – revolved and continues to revolve around sport. I have always been surrounded by teammates who were able-bodied like myself. But I won’t place the blame squarely on sports, because even off the court or field, when I think about the spectrum of people who have come in and out of my life – there is basically no one whom I was in steady contact with that had any type of disability – cognitive or physical. I can remember only one boy from camp who wore a leg brace and walked with a limp…hindsight is 20/20 and I wish I would have known him better.

I simply wasn’t exposed to very many disabled people. When I would see someone who was paralyzed, or someone missing a limb (or limbs), or someone walking with a limp, or a someone who had a physical deformity – it wasn’t in my norm. Let’s put the cards on the table – for me, that was tough to see… and I tended to look away. I don’t think that made me a bad person – uninformed, uneducated, naïve – absolutely, but bad? Don’t know. And while I’d like to hope that people are more informed than I was…I have a feeling most have similar reactions – because it can look scary, it can look uncomfortable, it can look…tough. And we often don’t like to see tough things in life. I think that’s ok to admit.

While I’m not scared to admit these things, what is scary for me is that if Amichai had never had a stroke, had never been diagnosed with CP – I would have just carried on – never ever gaining a deeper understanding of disability. That is scary because this understadning has enriched my life. I am not saying that I am happy he had a stroke. That was traumatic. I am not saying that this is what I wished for him. It certainly was not. Maybe I’m just saying that there are blessings in the dark, and lessons to be learned. And maybe Amichai was given specifically to me so that I could learn…and hopefully teach him a thing or two.

Amichai exposed me to a world I never imagined I would be a part of. Through him, through other children and adults that I have been exposed to -its all changed. Its not tough to see because that’s not all there is to see. There is innovation and determination. There is excellence and precision. There is passion and energy. There is humility and pride. There is intelligence and perspective. There is beauty and kindness. There is understanding and inclusivity. There is capability and strength.

We aren’t all privileged to be exposed to this daily or even semi-daily. Learn from my mistakes. Expose yourself to disability (I really don’t like that word – I’m open to suggestions). Confront it. Make yourself uncomfortable for one moment and then see that that moment is fleeting and shallow. We can all do better. Here’s an easy way to start – watch the Paralympics. You will not be disappointed. They provide an opportunity for exposure. They provide an opportunity to look past a missing limb, look past paralysis, look past deformity, look past a limp, look past blindness or any other impairment – and see the real deal.

Hey Mr. President, if the Paralympics were tough to watch – my advice – keep watching.

Amichai has high muscle tone that runs down his right side – but most of it is concentrated in his hand. His thumb tends to close inward into his palm and his hand is sometimes fisted even in a resting state. What makes this even more challenging is that the muscle tone increases as Amichai attempts any activity with his right hand. So, when Amichai wants to open his hand to hold an object, he must overcome the tone firing back at him from all fronts. This makes it difficult to get a grip.

But Amichai has a trick.

Make a fist. Hold it as tightly as you can. Then take your other hand and press down with your index finger and other thumb on the bottom joint of your fisted thumb. What happened? Your fisted thumb came loose. Magic. Not really, it’s physiology – that’s just how the muscles work. Pretty cool. Early on – when Amichai was still a baby, his PT and OT gave me exercises to help open up his hand. Always start with the thumb they told me. Once you can get the thumb free, its easier to get the rest of the hand open.

But the thing is, I never taught Amichai this trick. He figured it out on his own. It was sometime last year, I was watching him try to collect some items and he needed two hands. Instinctively he took his left hand and pressed down on his right thumb – his hand opened, he placed the object in his right palm and carried on without missing a beat. I stood there a bit surprised, a bit dumbfounded, but thoroughly impressed. I would never have figured that one out on my own. I remember asking him what he did. He gave me a look that I fear I will see again in later years – a look I give still give my own parents when it seems like they have just asked me the most ridiculous question imaginable. The only thing missing was the eye roll. He stared me down and simply said – I was helping my right hand Mommy.

Right. Duh.

For over a year now, Amichai has used this trick to get his hand open. At first, his OT wasn’t bothered by it, but after giving it more thought – she decided she wasn’t so thrilled. She feels he has the capacity to open his hand without the help – he doesn’t need the trick. And truth be told, Amichai has become quite proficient at opening his right hand independently to grasp smaller or thinner objects. The fact that he can do this almost effortlessly today is directly attributed to the countless hours Amichai’s OT has spent working with him and even more importantly – her belief in him that he CAN do it. It is a gift to work with professionals who believe as deeply as I do in Amichai’s capabilities.

Amichai’s OT is top rate. I trust and follow her advice. I encourage Amichai to open his right hand without the help of his left hand as she has instructed, but honestly – and at the risk of getting lectured by her – I don’t necessarily discourage the trick. The irony is not lost on me. I’m the person who will never choose the short cut. I put my head down and just go to work. I preach that hard work will pay off. And when it comes to Amichai’s therapies, I have always made sure that the people working with him know its ok to push him. Bring it.

So why am I letting him off the hook? Because its not that he’s getting away with something – its that he’s figured a way out of the box. When our kids our stuck, we tell them to think and be inventive. We want them to be resourceful. More so, repeatedly I have heard from numerous physical and occupational therapists, that hemis (kids who are hemiplegic) are the hardest to work with – the reason being: they manage just fine. These kids have a functioning body and don’t want to be told how to hold something the right way or walk a certain way – they can figure it out with instincts and creativity…so move out their way.

What I’ve learned as a parent to one of these stubborn hemi kids, is that the real key is finding a balance between providing them with the necessary framework of therapies and then letting them adapt that framework to the real world. Understanding how to modify, revise and then modify again is an imperative lesson of life. Amichai is learning that now and it will serve him well… because in the real world, sometimes you need to be quick on your feet. Sometimes you just need to get the job done in whatever way you can. Sometimes you need a trick or two up your sleeve.