Photo by Photo by Megan Bell

Savannah Guerrero, 12, shares her story of bonding with unlikely people.

I never imagined someone so small could teach me such big life lessons. Nearly all of the best things that happen in my life are unplanned. And I would have never guessed it would be a seven year boy with heart of gold.

This summer, I reached out to my church and asked to be apart of the VBS program. I helped teach bible study and met incredible people with inspiring stories. I became a camp counselor and acted as a role model for children. I got the opportunity to spread the word of God to the most amazing children, and I enjoyed every second of it. But in every classroom, there’s a class clown. There’s always someone who sits in the back and makes jokes when they aren’t supposed to or laughs at the most inappropriate of times. He was someone who always gave teachers a hard time and found it hilarious how they got antsy when he vandalised the books. And it seemed the more he caused trouble, the more I found myself curious about the boy who carved rainbows on the outside of the Bible.

It’s a rare thing to say you’ve met someone who will have an impact on who you are for the rest of your life, and I can easily say that for me, that person is Norman.

He has fiery red hair and the brightest blue eyes that light up a room as soon as he walks in. Norman had a very interesting sense of humor with a considerable amount of puns up his sleeve. He was the type of person who could instantly make you forget about all the bad things in your life just by flashing you a handsome smile. He had heart of gold and an extraordinarily optimistic personality, despite what he had been through his entire life.

Norman was different from the others in my class. Norman kept to himself and often isolated himself from others in his class. He sported the same neon sweatshirt every day and never spoke a word, unless it was something sarcastic about being at church when it wasn’t even Sunday. He wasn’t like the other kids in class. Norman was born with down syndrome and faced many challenges growing up. He had a hard time making friends who failed to look past his down syndrome. He never paid attention and was frequently found wandering off in the hallways killing time until his mom picked him up. He couldn’t understand why he was attending Vacation Bible School classes and often muttered he was forced to be there

Norman kept us on our toes. I could tell some teachers were getting impatient, which only seemed to spur him on more. The day he chucked a wooden ruler across the room — which nearly took my head off — was the day I decided to move Norman to the front of the class. The look on his face was priceless. He looked bewildered, as if no one had ever called him out on his actions until now, which only added to my guilt. I didn’t mean to be a Miss Trunchbull, but at the time, that’s what I felt like.

I was fully prepared for him to throw another ruler my way. I was ready for him to run out of the classroom or even make a sarcastic comments. But instead, he stood up, quietly walked to the front of classroom and sat down. And right when I thought I had won, Norman jumps on the table, points at me and shouts “SAVANNAH THE CHEESE HEAD,” a clever nickname on his part. Once everyone had stopped laughing, he sat back down in his seat with a smug grin on his face that I knew I couldn’t stay mad at. And that’s how it was for days. Norman walked in, sat in his new desk, and called me a cheese head. Then he’d strategically yawn whenever I spoke or obnoxiously smack his gum during class. There was some spontaneous singing or the occasional glitter fight, depending on how he felt that day. It became a routine.

One afternoon during lunch, I saw Norman sitting alone on the swings. He had one hand clutching onto the swing while the other grazed over the rainbow carving in his bible. I hesitantly approached him, unsure if he would snap at me. He glanced over at me and said nothing, which I took as permission to sit next to him. We sat there for what felt like hours until he cleared his throat and said “I’m sorry.” That was it. There was no catch or explanation. Just an apology. And then the tears came. He began to bawl, and I had no idea what to do. I was utterly speechless for his sudden epiphany. I was about to run over and get another teacher when Norman jumps off the swings and runs into my arms, holding on as if I were going to let him go.

Norman and I had become friends after that day. I met him every day at the swings during lunch, where I would laugh as he struggled to eat his grilled cheese and swing at the same time. We talked about Jesus and bonded over our love of dill pickles. Norman told the cheesiest jokes and it seemed impossible to have a serious moment with him. Now that I had gained his respect, he started to pay attention more and class and became more interested in learning about God. Norman developed a genuine interest in our Bible lessons, and I couldn’t have been more proud of him. He had come along way from the beginning of classes. There was no more spontaneous glitter fights or clever nicknames, although cheese head was starting to grow on me.

He opened up to me more about what growing up with down syndrome was like. He was challenged during school and struggled with being around people who treated him differently.

“Being different makes me special,” he said.
There was never a dull moment when Norman was around. Some of my most favorite moments were when Norman wanted everyone to know that he was just a normal kid. He liked binge-watching Top Gear and jamming out to Taylor Swift in the car. He was a happy and thriving kid, and he wasn’t going to let his disability define who he was. Norman was fearlessly authentic and never apologized for who he was. If his favorite song comes on, then out come the dance moves. Even if it’s in the middle, he didn’t care what people thought and encouraged others to be the same way. And what he said will stick with me for the rest of my life.