There you are in the grocery store, the face of
kindness. My son is walking beside me as I push the cart and you walk quickly
to catch up to us. You are shopping with your mom too. You call my son Tate by
name and greet him enthusiastically. Tate mumbles a response, barely looking
your direction and wanders on ahead. You tell me that you go to school with him
and when I thank you for speaking to him so nicely and I try to make an excuse
for his lack of interest in you, you say, “Oh I know. That’s just how he is.”
You call, “See you at school Monday Tate!” and as you walk away, my heart sings
knowing there are peers like you who genuinely like my son for who he is,
autism and all.
There you are in the school auditorium, the face of consideration.
My son and I are attending his sister’s school play. We find our seats in the
school’s auditorium. You come, dragging your mom by the hand, and sit beside
Tate. You speak to him and introduce him to your mom. I ask Tate to introduce
me to his friend. He says he does not know your name. I cringe inside but
smile, hoping you understand. I tell you that Tate has trouble matching faces
and names. You tell me you already know that, assure me it’s okay, and you politely
introduce yourself and your mother to me. You try your best to engage Tate in
conversation and you make a little progress, while your mom and I listen and
make a little small talk over the tops of your heads. I am very impressed and
thankful my son is learning social skills from peers like you.
I am at the Junior High school, sitting in seventh grade Science class. I've been invited by your teacher to hear Tate give his presentation on the solar system. You are there, so many of you! You are the faces of encouragement. Tate stands in front of you proudly, a big smile on his face. It never occurs to him that you might not be impressed with his modified school work or the presentation his Paraprofessional helped him to put together. Your presentations were much more detailed and they were done independently but you show Tate the same courtesy you showed the peer that presented before him and the one who comes after. My heart melts knowing you respect my son and make him feel like a part of your class regardless of his abilities. I so appreciate you!
There you are in a department store, the face of compassion.
I’m out shopping and feel eyes on me. I look over to see you smile and you ask,
“Are you Tate’s mom?” I say that I am and you ask me where he is. I tell you he
is home. You tell me you eat lunch with Tate sometimes. I tell you how much it
means to Tate’s family to know the kids at school are so kind to him. You smile
and tell me it is fun to eat lunch with Tate. You add that you have learned
more from being Tate’s friend than he has learned from you. I ponder this, as I
know Tate is not what most kids would consider “fun” or is he able to do the
classwork that the rest of you can do. He is hard to converse with, sometimes
seems rude, he does not understand social cues, and he performs below grade
level in every subject. But you know that. You know how he struggles to
understand friendship yet how much he needs friends. You know how he struggles
to process language, especially when it is spoken quickly. You are willing to
be the kind of friend a kid with autism needs, a friend who has to give more
than they receive, a friend who has to slow down and give Tate time to process
before he can respond. And you are okay with that. My heart swells with
gratitude.
This evening I need to find the face of understanding.
We have come to a music program. Tate is to sing with his classmates. I hoped
you would be here at the entrance to the school and I see you walking in right
ahead of us. I stop you and ask you if you know where Tate should go to find
his group. You tell me you know exactly where to go and you say, “Come on Tate.
Follow me.” I call to you as you disappear into the crowd, “Thank you!” I feel
blessed and relieved to be a part of this community where I can find these
willing faces all around us.
I see you at a school picnic, the faces of acceptance.
Tate’s class voted and chose to go fishing at a lake as their
end-of-the-year-event. We considered skipping it because Tate is not interested
in fishing at all. He does not like to get dirty and I figure he will most
likely spend the evening asking us how much longer we have to stay. We decided he
should go and as our family pulls up to the lake, several of you approach our
van, calling Tate’s name and asking him to hurry and join you. He says, “My
friends are here.” He follows you to the gathering and we bring up the rear. My
heart smiles at the knowledge that my son has friends. He has friends and he is
accepted, autism and all.
As a part of the autism community I often hear of
prejudice, intolerance, hate and bullying. We’ve seen very few of those things
in my son’s life. Perhaps it is because we have been open about his autism
diagnosis since kindergarten. Perhaps it is because we made sure his classmates
were educated about autism. Perhaps it is because of the lunch buddy program
and the other social coaching programs his peers have participated in with him.
Perhaps it is because we live in a small town and a close-knit community.
Perhaps we just got lucky and my son has a class of exceptionally caring peers
whose parents have taught them about friendship, kindness, consideration, encouragement, respect, compassion, understanding and acceptance. Perhaps it is a combination of all of these
things.
If you liked this post, you might like to read Building Tate's Friendships.
