When Shirley was four and I was two, mom and dad brought home a baby brother. His name was Richard Olen, but we called him Richie, because he weighed only four pounds and Richard seemed like a ten-pound name.

Our brother didn't gurgle, crawl, touch and explore like other babies. He lay still, observing us and sucking his thumb contentedly. To us, he was a beloved rag doll to be propped in a chair at our tea parties. We didn't realize that he was different; we just loved him.

As the years passed, our family grew. Mom brought home a baby nearly every year until I was 11. After Richie, came Lynda, then Ted, Mike, Danny, and Janie.

Because Richie couldn't climb up to the tree house with the rest of us, he sat under the tree on his swing, holding a portable radio to his ear, singing and swinging to his heart content. As long as he was singing, Mom knew where he was.

And oh, how he loved crayons. First he'd meticulously peel off the paper and break them into pieces. Then he'd line them up on his table and roll them back and forth. When he tired of that, he placed the crayons in a shoe box and carried it under his arm wherever he went.

Richie's favorite possession, after his crayons, was an old cowboy hat. He refused to go anywhere without it and slept with it on his bed.

Though generous with his other belongings, we understood it was "hands off" the crayons and the hat.

Because he was special, Richie couldn't go to school with the rest of us.

He began attending a state school for the handicapped. When he turned 21, he was too old to attend the school. He spent several years at home playing with his dog, rolling his crayons and strumming an old guitar, crooning tunelessly.

Then one day a wonderful thing happened. Our town opened a sheltered workshop for the handicapped. Richie who was now 28, had a job for the first time. Above all, he was thrilled to be surrounded by people like himself--people who were being made aware of what they could, rather than couldn't do.

Handicapped? Mentally retarded? Richie didn't know the meaning of these words. He was just a happy-go-lucky fellow who just happened to carry a handful of broken crayons around in his lunchbox.

Richie never learned to read a book or to write more than his name. God sent him to be a teacher, not a learner. And he was the best teacher our family could have had. He taught us gentleness, acceptance, loyalty, and love. He brought sunshine to all who knew him.

On January 12, 1985 Richie left us to be with God,We laid him to rest with his cowboy hat and the biggest box of crayons we could find. He was a blessing that God had lent us, and now was returning home. His death left a void that nothing can fill.

Every day, I see reminders of Richie--a cowboy hat, a broken crayon, an empty swing. My heart aches, but I know he is happy and free of his handicaps at last. I'm glad I had a chance to know and love him.

A friend's granddaughter at the school I work at read this story recently. She read it with such feeling and emotion that it brought to mind one of the kids I used to work with who also left us at a very early age. His name was Donnie, The story kind of says how I feel, and how for almost 20 years now how many kids have touched my heart, and how proud I feel knowing I may have done a little something good...Thank you Sara for again reminding us that there are others out there that need us, and we were all put here to help one another.