I have never been to a fashion show, but I’ve seen them on T.V. When my neighbor called and invited me to Siskin StyleWorks fashion show, I kind of panicked. Those things are for the beautiful people. Women in wide-brimmed hats with perfect manicures and good shoes all raptly watching other women with even more perfect manicures and even better shoes sashay down a runway.

I began growing my nails three weeks ago in preparation. This morning, I ransacked my closet, looking for something that would pass as fashionable. I had a large pile of discards. Denim dress with shoulder pads: Too eighties. Chiffon mini dress: Too flimsy. Yoga pants: Too sensible.

After much deliberation, I settled on a wool sweater dress and boots.

But then it started to rain. I do not have a raincoat. My mother does, but I knew for a fact my sister had just borrowed it to wear to New York, where it is also raining. I had to wear my son’s windbreaker, which is not actually waterproof, a fact he learned the hard way. I surreptitiously stuffed it in my large pocketbook as soon as I entered the Convention Center.

There were probably close to 1,000 impeccably dressed women there. I stared at the row of chic blond haircuts in front of me, and began to obsess about my inadequacies. I started to sweat in my sweater dress.

The fashion show only accented my lack of fashion. Pouty-lipped teenage girls and dewy skinned women traipsed in six-inch heels in size negative clothes. They all forced generic smiles as they paraded back and forth. I felt frumpier by the minute.

The only bright spot were the enormous live bunnies being toted around by some of the models. I figured if I had one of those it would detract attention from my scratchy outdated sweater and uneven nails.

And then suddenly the children modeled. They were all students at the Siskin Children’s Institute, most of who have developmental disabilities.

These children walked beside the sophisticated models, and the massive room immediately bolted to life. A little girl kept time to the music with her bouquet as she walked. A little boy dressed in a suit raised his arm in victory as he made it to the end of the runway. Another little girl curtsied shyly then blew a quick kiss. All of these little faces were genuinely lit up. Beaming with pride. Glowing.

And it was contagious. The models broke into wide unprofessional grins. The audience erupted in cheers and cat calls. And the row of elegant blonds in front of me? Well, they got a special wave from the special child that brought them here.