The hot turf radiates up my legs and brings me back to the time I used to play soccer. I see the familiar, determined looks in the eyes of the young defenders ready to slide-tackle anyone trying to get the ball in their net. I hear the players arguing with the ref on a “bad call.” Two players from the losing team walk off the field, comforting one another with their arms on each other's shoulders while they pass along a water bottle. This scene could have easily been my soccer team in high school, but there was one thingthat made them different, they had a special intellectual disability.

When I hear the word "special," I imagine a person who is disadvantaged and I automatically feel bad for her, but that instantly changed the moment I walked into the Special Olympics at UCLA.

The first game I watched was an intramural 5 v. 5 soccer game. The players did not seem to have any visible disabilities and played soccer better than I did. The stands were overflowing with people from all different countries and that is where I saw my new - and only - favorite cheer team.

Before, I would laugh at cheerleaders with faces that were choking under piles of makeup, but the cheerleaders at the Special Olympics were much different. There was a boy with Down Syndrome and the biggest smile I have ever seen, who kicked a ball that went out of bounds back to the players. There was a girl in a wheelchair with bug eye sunglasses who was holding hands with a girl who was small like a doll. The team had at least 15 people and they were not only cheering for both teams on the field, but also for each other. The only things covering their faces were smiles and excitement. They wiggled their pom-poms in the air and threw back their heads in pure joy. I felt uneasy asking if I could take a picture with them, since I did not want to offend them, but they were more than happy to. They felt like movie stars, and the way they posed made them look like stars too.

My reason for going to The Special Olympics to write an article seemed to disappear from all of the feelings I was experiencing, and I found myself talking to friendly strangers for fun, rather than an interview. A family from The East Coast sat next to me during the soccer game and told me that they saw that same cheer team at a cheer tournament their son was competing in in Texas. During our conversation I asked them about the word "special," and if they felt it was appropriate to describe the event? Prior to asking the question, I did not know they had a child with disabilities.

“There is nothing offensive about the word ‘special.’ The intellectual disability is offensive to me because if I have problems with something electronic, I go to my son for help,” Royal Bayley, the dad, said.

His daughter who is a doctor, felt differently. “The medical diagnosis doesn’t offend me, and I’d rather have that used than the word ‘retarded,'" Dr. Alexis Bayley added.

They showed me a picture of their son, who was playing softball, and he looked fierce. It looked like a Nike ad and I would not want to mess with him. They laughed and told me that the photo made him look like that, but he really is the most lovable guy. I believed them and told them to have a safe travel home, and I went off to another event.

I did not know how those athletes played all day outside; it was about 90 degrees and I was ready to watch an indoor sport. I went to the basketball arena because I saw a sign that said volleyball was in there. There was a type of volleyball there, where children with serious physical disabilities would pass a balloon over volleyball nets with a tennis racket. I sat next to a guy who seemed about my age. It wasn’t until my clumsiness made me fall on top of the chair rather than in it that I noticed his misshapen arm. We both laughed at my fall and he quickly hid his arm. I introduced myself to him and he told me his name was Patrick. He had a "Walking Dead" hat on and our conversation started with that and evolved into millennial topics of Starbucks, video games, and the latest celebrity scandals. I noticed him slowly relaxing his hand and allowing it to be seen the more we talked. He looked at me and said how happy he was that they had this event for children. He told me that he has a metal plate in his arm that makes his hand disfigured and had been bullied since he was three years old. I asked him how he felt about the word “special” for this event and he thought it was perfect.

“These kids are special, so special,” Patrick said. That is all he needed to say. The look in his eyes and the kindness in his heart proved it.

I realized an hour had gone by and I had to pick up my cousin, who was working as a volunteer for the event. As I said my goodbyes to Patrick, I couldn’t shake off this feeling that I was experiencing. All of these athletes felt like family to me and I had only just met them. I had never felt this warmth and comfort with any other group of new people.

These athletes were special. I stopped feeling bad for them, and started feeling bad about myself. I needed to start living my life the way these beautiful people did. I needed a little special in my life.