Jesus Sure Looked Like Winnie the Pooh to Me

I’m not afraid to admit that I’m a “Disney adult.”

My parents were some of the original Disney Vacation Club members and so every other year or so growing up, our whole family would take a weeklong trip to Disney World in Florida.

Over time, as me and my two siblings left home and started our own families, these gatherings grew to encompass our spouses and our children.

It was my parents who started the tradition of – whenever a grandchild turned five – that grandchild would be treated to five days with grandma and grandpa at Disney World!

Well, just a couple of months ago, that tradition passed to the next generation of grandchildren as my wife and I took our granddaughter Adelynn (“Addy”) to Disney World for her five-year-old trip.

To be honest, we had feelings of excitement and anxiousness in equal parts because our granddaughter is autistic, and while she knows us and trusts us, her mother and father are, understandably, her “primary people.” They are the ones who can best understand both her verbal and non-verbal cues. They are the ones that can sense and read situations as they emerge; situations that might trigger an over-sensory episode and proactively de-escalate it.

My wife and I have worked in public education and with organizations who provide services to individuals with cognitive and developmental disabilities. So, we are of the conviction that Addy’s experiences and opportunities shouldn’t be limited because she’s autistic and we might be a little uncomfortable. In fact, we bristle at words like “typical” and “normal” because those that use such terminology fail to see that it implies others are somehow “less than.” We believe that if someone feels they are “typical” and “normal,” then – with that subtle, yet implied superiority – comes the burden to endeavor to find new and creative ways to communicate with those they feel are not.

For example, I’ve adopted a couple of responses with Addy when I can’t understand what she is trying to convey. The first is, “Give me some time, Littlest. I’m not as creative as you.” And when/if I finally understand and we connect, I tell her, “I love how your mind works, Littlest.” If she is not wanting to do something that is not life threatening or critical, my word to her is “In your own way, and in your own time, Littlest. No problem.”

At any rate, the trip from Colorado to Florida was uneventful – thanks in no small part to the inflight entertainment of Bluey and coloring books! In fact, as the plane lifted off from Colorado Springs, she looked out the window and said “Bye mommy. Bye daddy. See you later.”

For any of you that have visited Disney World or Disneyland, you know that these experiences are immersive, with lots of sights, sounds, and smells. There are thousands of people, screams of joy, lots of laughter, and yes, the occasional exhausted tantrum with crying, kicking, screaming, and refusing to listen to reason. But usually, these parents quickly get a hold of themselves and sheepishly regain some composure.

The first two days of the trip were filled with rides and treats at EPCOT (she’s a fan of Ratatouille), and then a day at the Magic Kingdom where she was intrigued by all the different musical options like Mickey’s Philharmagic Orchestra. Of course, there were a couple of rides like Tiana’s Bayou and Pirates of the Caribbean that she also wanted to ride. By the end of the day she was so tired that she fell sound asleep on my shoulders as I carried her back to our hotel.

It was on the third day, when we were at a Winnie-the-Pooh Character breakfast that Addy finally hit her threshold. By way of understanding, how an autistic child responds to overstimulation varies a lot from one individual to the next. Some common signs include covering their ears or eyes, rocking, flapping hands or other repetitive movements (called “stimming”), crying, screaming, or attempting to flee the overwhelming environment. Let me be clear, such responses are different from a tantrum because they are not a deliberate behavior to get something, but an involuntary response to being genuinely overwhelmed, and it often continues until the child can get away from the trigger or has enough time and support to recover.

When Addy hit her limit, she arched her back, began to yell, and slapped her forehead just as Winnie the Pooh walked up to our table, right next to my wife who was trying to calm her. Obviously a giant, yellow teddy bear caught Addy’s attention and in that slight moment of pause, Winnie the Pooh knelt down, and gestured to my wife to let him hold her. My wife paused a moment, then transferred Addy into the lap of a crouching Winnie the Pooh, who then embraced her in an “shelter-like” hug that diminished the stimulation around her. Winnie the Pooh next began to rock Addy and gently rub her ear lobe.

Interestingly, Eeyore and Piglet were there as well, and they stayed back and allowed Pooh to work his magic. Then, after a few minutes, Addy noticeably relaxed, her body slumping as she found respite from her unique brain that was being flooded faster than it can process — sounds that became too loud and indistinguishable from one another, lights that felt piercing, textures that felt unbearable, and ordinary background noises like a humming refrigerator, fluorescent lights, or overlapping conversations that felt as intense as a fire alarm going off inside their head.

After about seven minutes, Addy moved out of Winnie the Pooh’s embrace, gave him a hug, then sat down at the table, her episode having passed. Piglet and Eeyore waved to her, and she waved back, Then, Winnie the Pooh stood, blew her a kiss as we thanked him and his attendant for showing an understanding and patience that – to us – had a sacred quality to it.

You know, it could have been my teary eyes, but Jesus sure looked like Winnie the Pooh that day.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Jesus in Matthew 11:28)