Free Power and Passion by Kay Tejani Page B

and looked over at her husband. "She
figured that with my experience, I might have something to tell her
about it."
    David nodded, pulling the towel from his
shoulder then taking off his glasses and giving the lenses a wipe.
Joan watched him as he carefully completed the task. He had always
been a meticulous man, methodical and purposeful about everything
he did. Just like the buildings he designed, everything about him
was minimalist: his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, his thin
wire-rimmed glasses, even his blue shirt was of a medium color, not
too bright or too dark, and creased in all the right places. What
Joan loved most, however, was how his modest exterior hid the deep
well inside him, the one from which he drew strength and love and
hope again and again. David was the kindest, most peaceful, and
most giving man she had ever met, and age had only perfected those
qualities in him. The older they grew together, the more she
admired him day by day.
    "So what did you tell her?" he asked,
replacing his glasses.
    Joan sat up. "I told her I have to think
about it. You know how much I have to do and that I don't like to
take something on unless I can give it my all."
    He smirked at her. "Well, couldn't you give
this one maybe just fifty percent? Meet with her once or twice?
Tell her what she needs to know?"
    Joan grinned right back at him. "I could …" She sighed. "I'm just so tired right now. I can't
think about it 'till tomorrow."
    David nodded. "Is it something about the
organization?" "The Special Olympics? Oh, no. Why would I have
anything against them? They do wonderful work."
    "Yes, they do. And I imagine the office here
is doing some pretty thankless work. It's good to know that they
have such dedicated staff."
    Joan nodded. "It's not that I don't want to
help. I just don't want to overbook myself. I'm fifty-six years
old, David. Aren't I supposed to be slowing down, not picking up
more moss as I roll on down the hill?" She looked at him for a
moment. "Why are you so interested anyway?"
    "What do you mean?" he asked, standing and
holding out a hand to help her up.
    Joan slipped her hand into his and got up
off the couch with a groan. "I mean why are you pushing me so hard
to do this thing?"
    David paused as if waiting for her to figure
out the answer. When she gave him a little shrug, he took her by
the shoulders and turned her whole body around. Facing the sofa, he
directed her attention to the end table, which prominently
displayed a large picture in a silver frame. In it were two smiling
faces: their daughter, Erin, and her husband, Mark. In Erin's arms
was Joan and David's granddaughter, Mackenzie, who was six months
old and had been born with Down syndrome. Wispy, light-blond hair
framed her sweet, cherubic face as she stuffed her chubby fingers
in her mouth. She wore a frilly white and pink dress and looked
just like every other baby in the world: happy, healthy, and, oh,
so very loved. Looking at this picture, Joan never saw the little
girl's disability, only her beautiful grandchild, a blessing to her
parents and a joy to the entire family.
    Joan glanced back at David, a hint of
moisture settling in her eyes. How could she not have thought of
that? That in helping Sara, she might, in some indirect way, also
be helping Mackenzie. Or at least children like her who might not
have the same opportunities in life. In that region those with
developmental, intellectual, or physical disabilities were not
lauded like they were back in the States; they were not treated
badly there, but they did not always receive the attention they
deserved either. Sometimes their conditions were not fully
understood by the different cultures that resided there. Sometimes
they simply lacked the support or, sadly, the funds to pursue their
goals.
    "What good is my power if I don't use it to
help those who need it most?" she said quietly, grabbing on to
David's hand again. "Isn't that what I've always said?"
    "Yes, it is," he replied