Consider, for instance, what happened the other night when she took her three children to an ice cream shop.

The kids deserved a treat. Kelly, a 6-year-old first-grader, and Max, an 8-year-old second-grader, had been named students of the month at Fairfield East Elementary School. Michael, 12, a fifth-grader at Fairfield Intermediate School, had received an A+ in gym.

While they were in the store, the snaps on Michael's pants somehow came undone. His pants slipped down to his ankles. Another mini-crisis.

Time was when Beth's thoughts might have immediately turned to others in the shop. But not this time. As she stooped to help her special-needs child, she didn't concern herself with the stares of strangers.

"For some reason that night, I just didn't care what anybody else in that place thought. It was like, that's life. It's just life."

And life, even with its challenges, is good for Beth and Terry McElligott, both 41, and their family.

They can say that now. Twelve years ago, it would have been much more difficult.

Michael was 2 months old when he began suffering seizures. Soon, it became apparent he wasn't developing normally. He didn't talk. He didn't walk until age 3.

For the first few years of Michael's life, Beth doggedly searched for answers. There were many doctor visits and therapy sessions.

Then it became apparent that Michael would never catch up. "We were devastated," Beth says.

Tests revealed their son was missing part of chromosome No. 1. Chromosomes, which occur in 23 identical pairs, contain a person's genetic blueprint.

Down syndrome is an example of a fairly common chromosome disorder. Michael's disorder is far more rare, and affects his speech and fine-motor skills. Although he understands what others are saying, he utters few words, communicating mostly by signing or using an electronic device.

He's sensitive to noise. The sound of dishes being cleared from a restaurant table, for instance, can overwhelm him, and he might respond by screaming. Which is why the McElligotts know about icy stares from strangers.

"I'm still working with being able to not worry so much what other people think," Beth says.

The most insensitive remarks have come from adults.

Children, on the other hand, have treated Michael well.

But Beth worries that the world may not always be so kind. She wants for her children what all parents want: that they be accepted, and that they be happy.

And Michael is happy.

Indeed, one of the best things the McElligotts did for Michael was have more children. (They were tested first, and told there was virtually no chance of a second child being born with the same disorder.)

Kelly, who enjoys gymnastics, dancing and art, and Max, who plays football, baseball and basketball, probably could teach some adults what it means to be accepting.

When Kelly returned home from the first day of school, her mother asked if she'd made any new friends. Yes, she said. She'd met a girl who uses a wheelchair.

Max, who at age 8 is "beyond his years," according to his father, is especially close to Michael.

The other day he wore a football shirt to school, but underneath was one of his brother's Thomas the Tank Engine shirts, stained with pizza.

"Max, it's dirty," his mother said.

"I don't care," the boy said. "I can smell him all day."

E-mail jjohnston@enquirer.com