For many parents, our presentation gives them an opportunity to connect with others, to laugh at their own imperfections, and to reflect on the accomplishments and strengths of their special children.

During the question and answer phase of this particular talk, an attractive woman raised her hand and explained, "I live in one of the wealthiest, most perfect towns in Minnesota.  People are so concerned about perfection and always talking about their perfect kids. Honestly, I was the same way with my daughter who probably would be considered "perfect" by today's standards. When I had my son who has autism, I was thrown off that treadmill of perfection. I'm so much happier now."

Then she asked, "How can I get other parents to get off that treadmill to see that kids don't have to be perfect to bring you joy?"

We were stumped. Not only did we not know how to answer the question; but also, we didn't feel comfortable reverting to our tried and true method of deflecting difficult questions ("Yes, we'd like to use a lifeline and ‘phone a smart friend.").

The truth is, we've been asking ourselves a similar question ever since we learned about our kids' disabilities: How can we get parents of "perfect" kids to see past the imperfections of special kids?

Parents in other talks have expressed the same concern. "You don't have to tell us about the gifts of our kids; we already know them. You need to tell the parents who don't have kids with disabilities about them."

We can't say we haven't tried to reach parents of children without disabilities. We, and many of the planners of special needs parent group meetings have unsuccessfully tried to invite them to our presentations, but they rarely come. Some have been very open about the reasons:

"No way am I going there! Someone might see me and think there's something wrong with my kid."

"Why would I want to hear two bitter sisters complain because their kids have issues?"

"All those parents want to do is take money away from our kids."

We were reminded of our failure to reach these parents during one of our talks for a special education PTO in a wealthy town in Massachusetts. Just outside of our meeting, on the other side of the glass door, was the regular PTO meeting (three times the size of our meeting).

We looked through the door and thought, Why are we in here and they out there? Why can't we all come together?

Were we really all that different? Our children might be different in apperance, or thought, or even IQ, but weren't our goals for them the same: to ensure they get the education they need to reach their fullest potential?

While parents in our meeting were sharing their greatest joys ("My 8-year-old son got invited to his first birthday party today!"), their greatest pains ("My daughter had to be hospitalized for depression"), and their heartiest laughs ("My son told me he missed having lunch with the Principal today?"), we couldn't help but look through the glass and wonder what the other parents were talking about. Were they open about their parenting concerns and mistakes? We're they offering support, understanding, and knowledge to help to each other? Or were they using the opportunity to show off their work on the treadmill by boasting about the perfection of their children? We certainly hope it wasn't the latter. Because as we've learned personally and from so many others, spending time on the treadmill is not all that worthwhile. We don't even bother to get on their anymore, much to our husbands' chagrin.

"Hey Gene, you do know that treadmill is not just for drying sweaters, right?"