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LEBANON, Tenn.
It was just a small show of tenderness and sacrifice. But I can't stop thinking about that moment on the midway.
I was in Tennessee reporting another story when I saw it. It was Saturday morning and the county fair was opening early for kids with special needs.
When the gates parted at 9 a.m., hundreds of families flooded through. Some children ran, pulling their parents toward the rides. Others made their way on crutches and walkers. Many were in wheelchairs.
A quick downpour left everyone soaked. Beside me, a family of four scrambled for shelter. I don't know their names. I didn't take notes, didn't ask questions.
The mom tended her toddler. The dad was pushing their older son in a worn wheelchair. They stopped at the first ride beneath a tent: the tilt-a-whirl.
Dad scooped up his son, leaving the wheelchair in the rain.
The boy looked about 12 or 13. When his dad hoisted him across his shoulder, his sneakers dangled almost to the ground. His body was limp, his face blank.
The dad eased him into the cart. Climbed in beside him. Pulled back the safety bar.
The ride raced around an angled, circular track. While Kid Rock sang his anthem of endless summer, the boy slumped silently against his dad.
When the ride stopped, so had the rain. The dad lifted his son and leaned him against the mom. He said something, then went to grab the wheelchair. It was drenched.
What to do?
Dad turned and sank into the chair. He wriggled around, leaned against the backrest. The water soaked his plaid shirt. The puddle on the seat wicked into his jeans.
Then he stood, cradled his boy, and lowered him into the chair.
Lane DeGregory can be reached at degregory@sptimes.com or (727) 893-8825.
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