It was a startling education among athletes who don't see colour, creed or religion, writes Mary Hannigan.
"Thank you for your interest," said the families all week to anyone who inquired about their sons or daughters, brothers or sisters, nieces or nephews, even it was just checking their home town, age or the correct spelling of their names.
"Thank you for your interest," time and again. No questions about the whereabouts of your interest all these years, the sudden emergence of that interest during the 2003 Special Olympics or your surprise at their kin's ability and bloody-minded determination to succeed.
No complaints of intrusion at the most special and stirring of family moments, just a gracious, warm, inclusive welcome, a kindness that would take your breath away. A gentle dignity, a gratitude to anyone who would acknowledge their loved ones' talents, even for a week.
Time in their company, just watching and listening, above anything, will be the most cherished, overwhelming memory from these Games. Entire communities - relatives, neighbours, coaches, helpers - of devotion and pride surrounding and enveloping every athlete.
In modern parlance it's dubbed a "support structure"; these people just call it "love", love for one of their own, nothing more complicated than that.
And you learnt quickly that they live in the real world, one that isn't fixated with trivia, like the correct use of "terminology", one that doesn't level accusations of patronisation and condescension at anyone who took an interest in their family members or friends.
They have more to be thinking about, like their daily lives, like rustling up enough funding to keep going to the kayaking coach who looks after their children every Saturday afternoon for nothing, who has helped them realise their potential and changed their lives; like trying to set up a local special needs centre that would mean they wouldn't have to take on a 100-mile round trip every day.
They teach you that those fixated with such "patronisation" charges are those who never left their keyboards or microphones during the 2003 Special Olympics, never set foot in one of the venues, never got to savour a single Special Olympics' moment.
Their loss. They'll be devoured by their own cynicism one day.
For some of us, in our ignorance, the week just gone was a startling education, especially for those of us who were oblivious to the existence of this huge, neglected loving army.
Some of us left Croke Park near midnight after the opening ceremony and bumped in to local children as young as seven or eight wandering the streets of inner city Dublin, with families who evidently didn't give a thought to their whereabouts.
"Who has the special needs," you couldn't but ask yourself.
All week the message was the same. "The special needs people have no inhibitions, we've an awful lot to learn from them, they live life day by day," said Trevor Devlin, a coach with the Irish swimming team and a freelance special needs coach in Mayo. "They don't see colour, creed or religion, they're awe-inspiring. For me to be part of it, I feel really privileged, I don't feel great that I'm a coach with the Irish swimming team; whatever you put in I guarantee you that you get 10 times as much out of it."
"Watch these people," said Luis Pimenthal, father of Venezuelan swimmer Pablo, gesturing towards his son and his team mates, "they can teach us so much. We hide our feelings, they show theirs, they are not afraid to love."
"We've a lot to learn from these athletes and their attitude to life, we really do," said Gerard Geraghty, father of Sharon, a member of the Irish kayaking team. "They'd kind of humble you."
Devlin, Pimenthal and Geraghty have learnt from the special needs people in their lives, that's probably why they were three of the most inspiring characters at these Games. You're blessed to meet two or three inspirational people in a lifetime, never mind in a week.
Pimenthal's pride in Venezuela having one of the largest South American teams at the Games, despite the indifference shown by his Government in their welfare; Geraghty's sheer, unadulterated joy in his daughter's achievements and, most of all, gratitude for the fun and excitement she has brought into his life.
And Devlin's quiet delight in the accomplishments of Anne McCormack, the Westport swimmer he has coached for 4½ years.
"I was introduced to Special Olympics through Anne after she competed in Belgium five years ago," he said. "I was approached by her key worker in the centre she comes from and that's where it all started for me.
"I'm 31 and it took me years to find out what I really wanted to do in life. I did aquatic science in college and I worked in that industry for 2½ years and left it, didn't know what direction I was taking in life. Started working in a leisure centre and then met Anne. She is the woman who has put me in the direction I'm in, I owe everything to her, she's a good, good friend.
"This is my passion and the most rewarding, enriching thing I will ever do in my life."
Another lesson for those of us who knew no better. Some of us misunderstood the Special Olympics' motto, "Let me win, but, if I cannot win, let me be brave, in the attempt." Some of us took it as meaning, "It's the competing that matters, winning is neither here nor there."
Some of us received a rude awakening on day one of the Games. The motto, we now know, actually means: "Damn it, I will win - but if I don't, well, life goes on."
Never expected sporting excellence, just spirit, courage and resolve. Got all four - accompanied by a joy, pleasure and humility that you pine for when following most sports and their practitioners these days.
There's never a shortage of spirit, courage and resolve, wherever you go in the sporting world, but joy, pleasure and humility are always in short supply. And the more they're paid the less joy, pleasure and humility they seem to possess or experience. In other words, they're no different to most of the rest of us.
"They bring the very best out of him," said Bertie Collins (Templeogue), about the people who have changed his son Billy's life by introducing him to kayaking. "The time that they give up every week, voluntarily - ah, it's just a credit to them," he said.
"This week took away the stigma about people with disabilities, put it in a bigger context, showed what their capabilities are," said Phelim Macken, special needs development officer with the Football Association of Ireland.
"There are plenty of people out there willing to help, plenty of people wanting to get involved in special needs' sport, but it's all a bit ad hoc at the moment, we just need a structure that will enable us to find each other."
Please God, from this day forth, let us help them find each other, let us help them enrich each other's lives. More than anything, though, the Special Olympics were fun, but now it's like the end of a perfect holiday, one of those treasured weeks from which it takes you a lifetime to readjust.
A perfect, stirring, uplifting week. Will we ever be the same again? Hope not.