Last night I took the boys to McDonalds. It was a rather random trip at a random time, since our earlier dinner plans had been derailed by "I won't need my shoes!" syndrome.
Another family had a similar chance decision. They had been en route to another dinner spot, but saw the playspace as they drove by McDonalds and decided to stop so their two young boys could get some energy out.
I parked myself on a seat shaped like a cheeseburger. I checked email, monitored Twitter, and played Angry Birds. I swiped some fries from my sons whenever they launched themselves into the playspace. I heard Splig speaking in Spanish to some kids and heard the Cat respond to the kids' father, also in Spanish. I chuckled to myself. And they thought their Spanish lessons wouldn't come in handy!
A father and three kids sat behind me for a little bit. Their son squirted ketchup all over the table. The father handled his son gruffly. There might have been a slap. The teenage daughter scolded her dad. It appeared the young boy's actions were not developmentally appropriate. My heart tightened in my chest as I heard the stress in everyone's voices. "We shouldn't have brought him here."
I surmised they weren't sitting in the playspace area to use the playspace. They were here because it was in a corner, away from most other patrons.
I almost hoped the boy would squirt ketchup on me so that I could show this family some kindness. "Not a problem at all," I imagined myself saying, "I understand." But instead I played with my phone, trying to track that family's conversation as well as my two boys' activities.
Soon thereafter, the family behind me left, dragging the young boy as he hummed.
Not much later, a man came over to introduce himself. He spoke in accented English. He had been the man to whom my boys had been speaking Spanish. His sons played happily with mine.
"I want to thank you so much to your boys for making friends," he told me, and then he explained that his oldest son has autism. "I never expected him to make friends," the father beamed. "But he is comfortable around your boys and they are playing so well together!" The man went on to compliment my sons' Spanish ability. His eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.
I dropped my voice a bit as I explained that the Cat had an autism diagnosis when he was young. I quickly explained that he's doing absolutely fine now, because I still straddle that line between encouraging others by telling our story, but also respecting my son's growth.
The mother came over and introduced herself. The three of us spoke about our sons, and how we both moved from one section of California to this one, and how the school districts here are much better than where we used to live. I told them about what the Cat was like when he was their son's age. We chatted about soccer leagues and other fun places to find companionship and social-skills strengthening. They told me how they weren't intending to go to McDonalds tonight, but it just sort of happened. They kept complimenting me on my sons. It felt so good.
The four boys played together seamlessly. "This is the best night ever!" Splig told me during one of his quick "eat a bite of dinner" breaks.
After it was way too late at night, we said our goodbyes, agreeing to meet up again at the playspace another night.
As we walked towards our van the Cat exclaimed enthusiastically of his new friends, "It is like we're puzzle pieces, we just fit together so well!"
Indeed.
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[Photo by Gonyea Stained Glass]
Comments (1)
I love this! This post makes me really, really happy. Well, except for the very sad part about the struggling family in the middle. That part was heartbreaking. Regardless, your kids are very cool.
Posted by Stimey | May 21, 2011 3:51 PM
Posted on May 21, 2011 15:51