Working in the Special Needs Department of a secondary school in London humbled me, until I met Henry.

Reading the case histories of many children registered as having 'special needs' shocked and saddened me in equal measure.  They ranged from congenital conditions, both mental and physical, to cases of children horribly brutalised, neglected, raped, and witness to atrocious violence at home.

This made me reflect on how I had spent so much time complaining about the negatives in my past, and brought to me a sense of shame and humility.  Compared to most cases I read, I have had a relatively happy, free, healthy life.  I was also amazed that so many kids with special needs behaved so well and were so resilient and optimistic.

Then a new pupil arrived at the school, a 12 year old named Henry.  He was a boy with Down's syndrome.  As the literacy instructor at the school, I was obliged, by law, to spend one hour a week with him, even though his condition meant that he would never read and write fluently.  With all the praise and encouragement I could muster in those years I taught him, he didn't get past the letter J when reciting the alphabet.  He adored Dr.Seuss books, mainly for their imaginative pictures.  He also loved watching certain movies over and over.

It took about a month before my sympathy for him was replaced with a feeling of envy.  I realised that Henry was the happiest person in the school, one of the happiest people I have ever met.  He would laugh out loud, sing heartily along with his favourite songs in films, often dancing in an uninhibited way, devoid of any self-consciousness.

He could be stubborn, and he hated changes to his routine.  He was no fool, he knew right from wrong, but his condition meant that he was untroubled by the anxieties of life that blight most people's lives.  He had and would have no concept of society, education, religion, or any of the philosophical questions that most of us ask of ourselves and life on this planet.  Ignorance can be a destructive thing, but for Henry it was truly a matter of bliss.

I envied Henry and loved watching his unbridled passion for things he not just loved, but got absorbed by completely.

Henry taught me a far more valuable lesson than I could ever teach him.