I don't know if it's due to the Christmas season or if I'd have noticed at any other time of year. But it started slowly, in an innocuous way, with no signs at all of being a miracle.
"I got a job!" said my wayward son, 17 years old and at the point in his life where he thinks he's smart enough not to need any more schooling. "And it's not even a fast-food job!""I'm impressed," I said. I was impressed with his resourcefulness but also struggling with his refusal to go to school. But I figured at least this way he'd be doing more than watching TV and inhaling calories. "What're you going to be doing?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm going to the care center tomorrow to observe."
"Observe?"
"Yeah. It's a care center for retarded people, and they said not everybody wants to work there."
He went, observed and took a job as a nurse's aide.
He wasn't very tolerant. "They're just like little kids! Half of them can't get dressed on their own, and you should see them eat!"
He was new and different to them, and they responded to him by kicking, hitting and biting.
"Biting! Are you sure you want this job?" I said, alarmed.
His answers surprised me. "Yeah, Mom, it's OK. They just don't know me."
"Oh."
"See, Joe's been there a long time, and he gets really messed up when there's any change. And there's this guy Ricky, he wasn't born retarded, but his dad hit him so much he is now, and he can't hardly do anything for himself."
A couple of weeks went by. Then he came home on Sunday and said, "We took them to church today."
"How'd it go?" I asked, sensing something was wrong.
"Not too good."
"What happened?"
"Well . . . we got them all cleaned up and stuff and took them to church. They tell them to be nice and to be friendly, and they really try. They go up to people and say hi and try to shake people's hands." Ben kept his own hands busy making a sandwich.
"They're droolin' an' stuff, but they don't know any better, and people just cringe." He shrugged. "I don't blame anyone. You'd have done the same thing. A couple of weeks ago I would've too."
He paused. "But I care about them now." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Do we have any chips to go with this?" Another bite. "I forgot to tell ya, I wanna hang out with John later."
The teenager was back, but for a brief moment, the camera lens changed focus, and the man came into view.
"Oh yeah," he said around a mouthful of potato chips, "if it's OK with you, I think I'll sign up for night school this week."
I definitely think it's a season for miracles.