Turns out that guy with the skulls hoodie can empathize

For the past two years, these families waged an emotional and energetic crusade to make people realize the value of building a $12 million early learning center in Barrington for kids with special needs.

It's one of those classic suburban stories of doggedly determined parents triumphing despite obstacles and the passing of time (their kids will be too old to benefit by the time the center is built) to make the world a little bit better for children with autism, Down syndrome, cerebral palsy and other barriers.

So after the Barrington Area Unit District 220 board finally approved the new building, seven of the parents went to Wool Street, a local hangout, to celebrate.

"What happened next was just serendipitous," says Jennifer Bulandr, one of those parents. "One of the guys in the bar overheard what we were celebrating and paid half our tab."

That would be 28-year-old Ryan Ball of Barrington.

"If I just saw him, I'd never think he was that insightful," Bulandr says. "He was wearing a black sweatshirt with white skulls on it, and a black baseball hat on backward. Being a 40-year-old mom, I didn't think we'd have anything in common or that he'd be interested in that."

Turns out Ball empathizes.

"July 10, 2004, in Madison, Wisconsin," says Ball, who was already such a top inline skater by his 1999 graduation from Barrington High School that he had corporate sponsors for his trick-skating competitions. "I fell short on a jump from one parking lot to another parking lot. I landed on my feet, but in such a wrong way that I ricocheted off my feet."

He broke two lumbar in his lower back and mangled his right foot, shattering the navicular bone and tearing ligaments. A college student in Minnesota, Ball was forced to come home and begin a difficult medical odyssey, starting with months in a back brace and more months in foot casts.

"It was getting worse. I had every treatment under the sun," Ball says, recounting one "bone stimulator" that sent electromagnetic pulses into his foot for 10 hours a day for six weeks.

"Whenever I could wear two shoes, I tried to skate" but the pain that first year was too severe, Ball says. "Then I wasn't trying to skate as much as being normal and able to walk. I was on crutches on and off for three-and-a-half years."

Crutches became such a part of him that "I can almost run a pool table using a crutch as a cue," says Ball, who has several videos of himself (search youtube.com for "beersection") making trick shots with a crutch.

Simple tasks of carrying books, opening doors or going up stairs were grueling.

"Taking a shower was the worst," Ball says. "It's the small things you really start to realize. I was doing everything I could just to get back to pedestrian status."

In the midst of all his frustration, a surgery left a piece of drill bit in his foot, and a later surgery fixed that. Ball understands some of what those parents at the bar endure daily.

"I think what he related to more than our efforts was the effort these kids make all the time," says Paul Conover, who turns 50 today. "It's cheesy to say, but I think he connects with special-needs kids, who struggle all the time."

Touched by Ball's story, early learning PTO parent Jennifer Garrels says "it was also an eye-opening reminder that nobody is immune to having special needs" and provided "additional reassurance to the value of advocating for those with special needs."

Ball is living with his parents and going to Roosevelt University now. He still has pain if he tries to skate, but says he can tolerate some acrobatic snow skiing. When he heard those moms and dads talking about their kids, he felt compelled to throw down money, which the parents passed on to the PTO.

"I think I can relate to anyone going through that struggle," Ball says, adding that his troubles pale in comparison. "I couldn't imagine being those parents. It's not something they did to themselves. And it's a struggle every day. Wow, that's strong."