To My Son’s Friends, Thank You

home insemination Kit

There you are in the grocery store, radiating kindness. My son, Alex, is walking next to me as I push the cart, and you hurry to catch up with us. Shopping with your mom, you call out to Alex, greeting him with genuine enthusiasm. He mumbles a shy response, barely glancing your way, and drifts ahead. When I thank you for being so friendly to him, you smile and say, “Oh, I totally get it. That’s just how he is.” You wave goodbye, saying, “See you at school Monday, Alex!” My heart swells with gratitude knowing there are peers like you who embrace my son for who he is, autism and all.

There you are in the school auditorium, demonstrating consideration. We’ve come to watch your class’s performance, and you walk over, pulling your mom along, to sit beside Alex. You introduce him to your mom, and when I ask Alex to introduce me to his friend, he admits he doesn’t know your name. I cringe a little but smile, hoping you understand. You reassure me that it’s okay and politely introduce yourself and your mom. You make a genuine effort to engage Alex in conversation, making small strides while our moms chat above you. I’m truly touched to see Alex learning social skills from friends like you.

Now, I’m in junior high, attending your science class to watch Alex present about the solar system. You all are there, the faces of encouragement. Alex stands proudly, grinning from ear to ear, oblivious to the fact that your presentations were more detailed and done independently. You treat him with the same respect you showed to the classmates before and after him. My heart melts, knowing you make him feel valued and included despite his challenges. Thank you for that!

There you are in a department store, showing compassion. While shopping, I notice you smile and approach me. “Are you Alex’s mom?” you ask. I confirm, and you inquire about his whereabouts. When I tell you he’s at home, you share that you sometimes have lunch with him. I express how much it means to our family to know that kids like you are so kind to Alex. You light up, saying it’s fun to share lunch with him and that you’ve learned more from being his friend than he has from you. I ponder this, recognizing that Alex might not be what most kids would consider “fun,” but you’re willing to be an understanding friend. My heart swells with appreciation.

Later, at a music program, I seek your helpful face. I spot you walking in as we arrive at the school. I ask if you know where Alex should go to find his group, and you confidently say, “I know exactly where to go. Come on, Alex. Follow me!” As you lead him away, I call out, “Thank you!” Feeling blessed to be part of a community filled with compassionate faces like yours.

At the school picnic, you embody acceptance. Alex’s class voted to go fishing as their end-of-year event. We nearly skipped it because fishing doesn’t interest him, but we decided he should go. As we arrive, several of you rush to our van, calling Alex’s name and urging him to join you. He exclaims, “My friends are here!” My heart beams, knowing my son is accepted and has friends who embrace him, autism and all.

In the autism community, I often hear stories of prejudice and bullying. Thankfully, we’ve experienced very little of that. Maybe it’s because we’ve been open about Alex’s autism since kindergarten or educated his classmates about it. Perhaps it’s the lunch buddy program and social coaching his peers participated in with him, or simply that we live in a tight-knit community. Maybe we’re just lucky to have a class full of caring peers whose parents instilled values of kindness, consideration, and acceptance. It might be a mix of all these factors.

Thank you for being such wonderful friends to my son!