Down boy timeless boy

A seven years old boy with a Down syndrome walked to me a few days ago.

I've been working on weekend camps for autistic and disabled children and youth. Last weekend was his first camp, and his first nightstay outside his home, except at his grandparents. Most children on the camps are autistic, and he, too, had autistic features. He was extremely cute with his slanted eyes and wide smile, very brave, and as many Down children, disarmingly charming.

And, again as most Down children, he was slow. And when I say slow, I mean slow. Often he didn't have much clue of what he was doing, but equally often it was clear that he had a goal he was heading to. It's just that getting there took some time. It could take three minutes to climb inside a car; sometimes it took a couple of minutes to ponder upon if one should choose to drink water or juice.

My first reaction in this kind of situations is always to hurry. Oh my, why does it take this long? We have to be going already. But how to tell that to someone in whose life hurry doesn't exist? He does not speak and understands only simple sentences, simple words. He can use symbols passively: in hearing and when shown pictures designed for wordless communication, or manual signs. (Signs used by deaf people have been adopted to people with difficulties in communication so that they are used together with speech. Often Down children who cannot speak learn to actively use a limited number of manual signs or pictures.) Yet, any symbol for 'hurry' is not likely to ever be among the signs he understands. In his world, there will never be hurrying.

I don't claim to understand how his mind works (anymore than the mind of that autistic boy who escapes from his assistant only to run to the toilet to drink liquid soap). But I did have a lot of time to wonder about it when I was waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing.

One feature common with almost all the Down kids I've encountered is that they trust the world around them. They don't seem to doubt at all that their basic needs will be satisfied. Again, they almost never hide their feelings: be they happy or bored or sad, they are sure to express it. And when they are determined to something, they go for it.

Oh, I like these children. They have taught me many important lessons of happiness.

What this very boy taught me was that he's right. Hurrying doesn't exist. Or rather, it exists only in our minds. We are having a walk in a beautiful forest, birds singing, sun shining through leaves (and a possibility to spot a flying squirrel), and I worry that we are left behind the group. We are left behind. But what about it? What if it takes three minutes to climb a car? What if it takes an hour to eat a snack? Where are we going with such a speed?

It feels for me that while technology gets faster, the society—us—has to go faster and faster too. We have to work more and with more speed. We always have to be somewhere on certain time. People get upset when their mails, text messages or calls aren't answered immediately. Healthy food is expensive, and thus we have to work more to afford it. Economic growth has to continue—faster and faster—until it crashes (which is hopefully about to happen soon). Even things connected to slow lifestyle have timetables. The main reason I do not take yoga classes or take part in meditation group sittings, which are both things I would enjoy, is that I always end up rushing and feeling stressed because I'm late. And that's not something I like to feel even when I kind of have to, and certainly not on my free time.

My mind doesn't like speed. Neither does my body. Among all the people I know, these Down kids who don't understand the concept of hurrying are actually in many ways the wisest.

Hereby, I make a solemn promise. If it ever happens that a Down child is born to me, I promise I will try to learn every lesson s/he has to teach me.