the bride

The role play had people in stitches. Two people with disabilities were playing the part of a couple telling her parents that they wanted to get married. Joe in the role of father was protesting that in no way would he support the marriage. The goal of the role play is to help people stand up to parents about love and relationships. They were going at it. She was demanding to be heard and Joe was shouting back. Suddenly Joe made the point clear.

"No way will I walk you down the aisle."

The woman with a disability came to a sudden halt. She covered her face and said, "That's exactly what my dad said. Exactly what he said to me."

She saw the look on Joe's face - horror that he'd brought a painful memory back - and she said, "No, it's OK. I just can't believe you knew what my father would say to me."

I asked her if she wanted to continue the role play and she was in for a penny in for a pound. So we went back to it and soon the room was exploding with laughter again as we dealt with a sensitive issue with humour and good will. The room was egging her on, wanting her to win the debate. Which, of couse, she did. When it was over, Joe reached out and touched her arm and I heard him say softly to her, "If I was your father, I would have been proud to walk you down any aisle, anywhere." Not for nothing is this guy in my life.

"That was a lot of fun." She said, having forgotten the intrusion of real world pain into a fun day for her.

"I'd like to do something, if that's OK with you," I said to her, flying by the seat of my pants - which is typically how I travel through my life. She agreed so I had people clear and aisle way through the front of the group. I asked her to take Joe's arm and suddenly she knew what I was going to do.

"Are you going to have me walk down the aisle with Joe playing my father," she asked incredulous.

"Yes," if you want to.

"I do," she said quietly.

I asked the group to hum the wedding march and the whole group joined in as the two of them walked together down the aisle. When the got to the end the room erupted into applause and she tipped her head back and laughed. A big throaty laugh. Unencumbered with pain, just a laugh of pure joy.

Joe was oddly quiet as we drove away from the day. I asked if he was OK. He is a man who likes to think there is only good in the world. He knows from our work together that that is not true, but while I look at the dark, he always sees the light. To have stood that closely to her painful memory would have been hard for him. So I was concerned.

He considered my question for a second.

"It shouldn't have been me," he said, "and it shouldn't have been pretend."

But it wasn't pretend. It was very real for everyone in that room. They all knew and understood what had happened to her. They all know what it is like to be victims of prejudice from society but even worse they know what it's like to hear prejudice come from the mouths of parents, siblings, care providers. They all wanted to be there with her and for her. It wasn't prentend at all. Something very real happened.

There is nothing more real than prejudice.

And nothing more real than pride.