“Excuse me, would you like me to assist him on the ice?” The rink manager, clad in a blue shirt, extended his hands as if inviting me to dance. Yet, in that moment, he was merely waiting for me to release the handles of the wheelchair. I hesitated.
As I planned our summer getaway to Colorado, anxiety washed over me at the thought of all the necessary adjustments. I yearned for adventure, inspired by Robin Williams’ call to seize the day in Dead Poets Society, but I also wanted my family to be happy, healthy, and well-rested. I pictured the challenges of altitude sickness at 8,000 feet, the missed naps in favor of hiking and swimming, and the potential chaos of leaving restaurants early due to one of my three kids throwing a tantrum. More than anything, I worried about my six-year-old son, Max, being sidelined while his younger siblings participated in activities he couldn’t join from his wheelchair.
I researched hiking backpacks, settling on one with top reviews to ensure we could take him on the trails. I verified that the gondola was ADA compliant and packed extra water and applesauce squeeze pouches for our outings. My goal was to include him in every possible way. This is my instinct; when I see him feeling limited by his disability, I find a workaround—like a special needs MacGyver.
However, ice skating felt like an insurmountable barrier. I had resigned myself to the sidelines when the rink manager’s offer caught me off guard. Suddenly, a door I thought was closed swung open, and I found myself grappling with both fear and hope.
“Let me take him out there,” my husband, Mark, said, echoing the manager’s gesture—hands out, coaxing. I looked at Max, whose eyes sparkled as he pointed towards the ice. That was the encouragement I needed; I stepped back and let him go.
Mark glided away with surprising speed, prompting me to yell, “slow down!” I soon surrendered to the joy of the moment. Max kicked his legs while the wheelchair glided and slid like a luge, and Mark used his hockey skills to spin and twirl, making our son feel like he was flying. And fly he did. Cheers erupted as he zipped past, waving like royalty.
After half an hour, his cheeks were flushed and fingers slightly cold, but I had never seen him happier. The next evening, we returned for another round, and amidst the laughter, a couple got engaged on the ice. Max clapped for them, and they returned the gesture, creating a magical atmosphere of joy and community.
Such moments of connection and acceptance, especially in a place like this—on ice, under the stars, perched high in a mountain town—were beyond what I had imagined. It was a true miracle on the ice.
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Summary:
This article recounts a heartfelt experience of a mother, Alex, whose son Max, who uses a wheelchair, was able to ice skate thanks to the support of his father and the rink manager. Overcoming her fears, she allowed Max to participate, leading to a joyful and inclusive moment that transformed their vacation into an unforgettable experience. The narrative highlights the importance of adapting activities for children with disabilities and the joy of community support.
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