June 9th, my birthday. It’s a hot afternoon in Santa Fe. I’m taking a break from teaching a mindfulness retreat to have lunch with my friend Jeune. We’re at a fun pizza place overlooking the plaza, sitting on the patio drinking lemonade and talking, hoping for a breeze, waiting for our food. The summer heat has slowed everyone down. Suddenly a loud deep groan, followed by a piercing shriek, makes my blood run cold. I look around – no one else seems alarmed — no one has jumped up, no one has fallen down. And then I see the source of this terrifying sound.

There is a family of five seated across from us. And the middle child, a girl of about 11 or 12, is rocking side to side, flicking her fingers, while her Mom holds her: “I told you, no shouting,” says the mom firmly, and she means it. Her daughter gradually calms down. The younger sister has buried her face in her menu, studying it without looking up once. The older sister is staring far off into space somewhere, pretending not to know these people sitting at her table. The father has stood up and is looking over the balcony for a few minutes, his face impassive, before rejoining his wife and daughters.

I keep wanting to look over at them, to catch their eyes and signal my heartfelt empathy. I silently send friendly wishes to this girl, “May you be safe and protected; May you be free from suffering; May your family live with peace and ease.”

When I was a young Mom learning mindfulness meditation, I helped start a community therapeutic school for children like this girl — children who were unable to be integrated into mainstream school programs. Some of these kids had suffered severe neglect and abuse, some were mentally ill and some had severe developmental disorders. We learned to work with them all, and we saw how our own mindfulness practice benefits all those whose lives we touch.

Sitting near the unknown girl that hot birthday afternoon, I remember all the kids and their families at our school, and my huge respect and caring for them. They – and their parents — work so hard to be mindful and learn what other kids seem to pick up effortlessly.

These children challenged us, their teachers, to hone our skills in mindful awareness, kindness, patience and creativity. Like kids everywhere, they have special sonar for detecting adult weaknesses – but most hadn’t learned to control their impulses yet. My co-teacher Alan hated snot, for example – and inevitably the more provocative kids chose to wipe their boogers on Alan. I had some aversion to …well, you’ll see.

One Spring day in Boston, seven year old Patricia ran up to me during recess in the yard; she had both hands behind her back and laughingly teased, “Which hand?” Happy to see her happiness, I chose, “THIS one.” She opened her hand to reveal a glistening poop, poised on her palm.

I was already studying and practicing mindfulness back then, with the intention to be present and open-hearted in every moment. Patricia definitely tested the depth of my practice! I loved to take care of the plants in our classroom; she loved to tear their leaves off, while looking over her shoulder to gauge my reaction.

Like Patricia, all the challenging kids became my teacher, one by one. I had to sharpen my mindfulness and open my heart wider and wider to make room for the 10,000 surprises, the 10,000 joys and sorrows of our life together. In different ways, the children at our school all invited me to show up and meet them in the full range of human experience. Mostly they taught me not to turn away from their stinky poop, or from the unloved parts of my own being. They showed me all of themselves, and I began to recognize and appreciate their own unique ways of being present. As I did this, the children helped me be a more unruffled, attuned Mom at home, and a more loving teacher.

On June 9th, my birthday, this unknown girl touches my heart. She evokes the compassionate teaching of all the special kids: don’t be afraid of what you don’t yet understand – we’re not separate, we all have our wild and crazy parts, and we’re all part of each other’s being. So we don’t have to be scared of shrieks and groans — or of our own minds and hearts. Remembering this has to be one of my best birthday presents! Thank you to her and her Mom for a powerful teaching, thank you to all the kids who stretch their mindful Moms’ & Dads’ hearts, thank you to all special kids and families everywhere.

Trudy Goodman is the founder of InsightLA

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