Except, as it turned out, dinner.  The Rainforest Café had to line up a bunch of tables for us. Kids were taking each other by the hand and gazing at the aquariums. Girls were running off to exchange secrets. Rick and Casper were speaking their own language of wow. "Wow!" offered Casper. "Wow!" exclaimed Rick. Their laughter was like a wave crashing into the ears, over and over, the same yet different. Catching the eye of a woman at another table, it struck me I had no idea what she saw looking at our party. I was suddenly protective. Was she seeing Rick's unusually elastic rapport with kids? Or was it that she could not remember the last time she heard so much laughter?

Maybe she was seeing Casper—sitting on Rick's knees, stealing food from people's plates and then offering it to others with the seamless give and take of child’s play. Maybe she saw, as I did, Casper looking out at the world through rosy eyelids, sitting like a little prince at the center of the table. I hope she was seeing what I was seeing. I hope she got it.

During dinner it became clear that I was having too much fun to leave, so I decided to stay for an extra day. At breakfast the next morning I sat with Alicia and Finn. Alicia drank her coffee cup full of “mommy juice” while Finn gravely drank his apple juice out of a coffee cup as well. She had such respect for her son, addressing him without baby talk and expressing her hope that he would never feel that he has to be different than he is. Sitting there across from this delightful boy it seemed impossible that anyone would want him to e different, but Alicia told me about having to educate others to appreciate Finn as he was.  This was one of many moments that reminded me that the conference was a window in time dedicated to celebrating the beauty within individuals who were not always valued.   Alicia said simply, “he’s the kid that I have and he’s great.”