March 29, 2020
Today I turn 40. Today I am thinking a lot about my buddy, Barry.
When I took adapted physical education class at West Chester University of Pennsylvania, I had no idea what I would eventually do with my life. All I know was that I wanted to be a physical education teacher—mostly so that I could coach. As a person who loved sports my whole life, this seemed like just the right profession. There were other reasons why I went into this profession that I plan on writing more about at some point in the future.
During my final year at West Chester University, I took a class called “Adapted Physical Education,” with Dr. Lepore. I have such fond memories of Dr. Lepore as a really down to earth New York City native—accent and all. Dr. Lepore graduated from New York University with a doctorate in education and was in the middle of forming an accomplished academic career when our paths crossed. Yet, despite the fact that Dr. Lepore was a successful academic, she was more importantly an expert in adapted physical education (particularly swimming classes) and used her skill set to care for some of the most vulnerable people in society—people with physical and mental disabilities.
As a requirement for the adapted physical education class, I had to participate in a community service activity, serving people with disabilities outside of the university environment. Gaby and I were recently married and so we decided to serve together since this would take me being away from home on Saturdays. For a couple of weeks, Gaby and I went on Saturday-morning dates to a local stable to assist autistic people as they participated in horseback riding lessons as part of their therapy. I would not have chosen to do this in a million years, but during this time I realized two things: 1) Gaby has an amazing heart of service and 2) Despite the fact that I thought that I was going to spend my professional career working with elite athletes (that was at least my hope), I actually enjoyed working with my new friends who had autism. There was something uniquely rewarding about this type of service.
But on my 40th birthday, I am thinking about *Barry.
A couple of years after I took the adapted physical education course, I sensed a call on my life to learn how to teach the Bible. This led to me enrolling in a school of ministry in California, meaning that Gaby and I would have to relocate across the country from New York City. My goal in attending the school of ministry as to get a year or two of formal biblical and theological training before returning to teaching physical education. I had to find a new job as part of the relocation process from New York City to Southern California. Naturally, I looked for positions in physical education.
One day, Gaby sent me an advertisement for a position as an adjunct professor of physical education in a local community college in California. Upon applying for the position, I realized that it was not for a typical professorial role; this local community college had a department that served the community of people with disabilities and was looking for an adapted physical education teacher. Technically, I was an adjunct professor. However, my real job was serving people with disabilities at local day programs by providing physical education classes.
I was an adapted physical education teacher!
I loved all of my students but there was something extraordinary about Barry.
Barry was consistently the happiest of all of the people in the day program though his physical condition would not be what many non-disabled people might call, “happy.” Barry was almost completely incapacitated by severely spastic cerebral palsy. He could only move one arm very little with a lot of effort.
Not long after I began working in the day program, I realized that it was easy to make Barry happy. Barry was overjoyed by simply participating in physical education class. In fact, Barry “excelled” in physical education class because he excelled in trying his hardest. Like, for example, his effort when we would play our makeshift bowling game with plastic pins. I would set the ball on top of a three-foot ramp and “all” Barry had to do was push the ball a little, to get the ball rolling down the slope in the trajectory of the pins. Even this took great effort.
Yet, something amazing would happen every time Barry would push the ball and knock down a pin. Upon seeing the pin fall, Barry would release an emphatic shout that sounded almost as if he was releasing all of the constrained happiness he had in his heart for that one moment. “Yyyyyyeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!” Barry would shout. Involuntary shaking would accompany Barry’s exuberant moment.
This, my friends, was an inspiring sight to behold.
There was one more thing that used to bring Barry into this same type of exhilaration—his birthday.
Every time Barry talked about his birthday he would scream. In fact, the day program workers would occasionally bring up Barry’s birthday whenever they wanted to cheer him up. Within a couple of seconds after Barry hearing the reference to his birthday the whole place would light up as Barry would release one of his characteristic and heartwarming screams, “Yyyyyyeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!”
Barry absolutely loved his birthday.
Toward the end of my first year working at this day program, I noticed that Barry started screaming much less. The things that used to make him shout for joy—even the occasion of his birthday—would only make him smile. Then, Barry even stopped smiling. Barry had become ill. Looking back on the situation, I now realize that Barry was dying.
I remember Barry’s funeral. It was not big. It consisted of many people from the day program and a few other relatives. All were sad, but I do not remember any of us crying. We were certain that Barry was in glory and no longer dealing with the physical and mental obstacles that caused him adversity in this life. Barry had been healed and was, “walking, leaping, and praising God” (Acts 3:8).
It has been about 13 years since Barry died. I only taught adapted physical education for one year—the year that I met my buddy Barry. The year in which Barry passed away.
On my 40th birthday—Barry’s day of the year that used to make him sooo happy—Barry reminds me of who I really am and why I am really on the earth. Despite all of the degrees and other accomplishments (that I indeed value), I am reminded by Barry that I was not born into this world in order to do a bunch of good things so that I might glory in my own achievements. I am on the earth to bring glory to God by serving people who were created in his image—people like Barry.
Those who are the weakest in society are image bearers of God.
Those who need help to carry out even the most basic human needs are image bearers of God.
I admit that I do not think of these people by default and therefore, must be proactive in once again learning to serve people with disabilities.
I thank Barry for reminding me of this even though he passed away many years ago.
Ultimately, I thank God that I was able to imitate the Lord Jesus by caring for the weak and the vulnerable even if, in my case, it was completely by accident.