Dear Discerning Diner,
You might not recall me or my family, but your judgment was as quick as it was blunt. “We would never allow our kids to zone out on screens during family meals,” you remarked to your partner while gesturing in our direction. Your conviction was clear: your future children would never exhibit the “rudeness” you perceived in my child. I suspect you continued your day without giving us a second thought.
I understand where you’re coming from. I’ve made similar statements myself when I was merely a hopeful parent-to-be. That was before I had real children, before I realized that one of my little ones was a bit different from his peers, and before a doctor introduced me to a rather daunting term that starts with an A.
You see, it’s easy to pass judgment when you’re not in the thick of things. All you see is a child absorbed in a phone. But I see so much more. As a parent of a child with autism, all those pre-parenting assumptions dissolve in the face of reality.
You notice a kid fixated on a screen. I see a little boy who, just this morning, was tangled up in curtains, seeking refuge from the discomfort of getting dressed. Clothes can feel unbearable for him; a simple T-shirt might as well be a straightjacket. So while you see a kid zoning out, I see a child who managed to put on his clothes.
You see a kid ignoring his family to play games. I see a child who was dragged to a park for family pictures he didn’t want. He found a sturdy branch to climb and jump from, desperately trying to ease the tightness of his shirt. But he complied with the pictures, smiled, and made eye contact for a whole hour. So while you see a child being inconsiderate, I see a young boy who did his best to cooperate.
You notice a kid shunning his food in favor of videos. I see a little one who waited patiently for half an hour to be seated and then had to face disappointment when his plate held linked sausage instead of familiar sausage patties. Yes, he could eat it, but it’s new and frightening, so he won’t. He’ll remain hungry until we get home to his preferred meals. So while you see a child not eating, I see a boy waiting for comfort food.
You observe a kid avoiding social interaction. I see a child valiantly holding it together, battling a storm of sensory overload. Just one of these challenges could trigger a meltdown, but he’s managing to keep himself composed. Those bright, colorful characters on his phone provide just enough distraction for him to get through brunch without losing it. While you view him as dismissive, I see a child using coping mechanisms to navigate a difficult experience.
So, Ms. Diner, next time you spot a child zoned out on electronics during a family meal, remember this: while you may envision your future children as perfect little beings, the child at the next table might just be doing an extraordinary job of avoiding a meltdown. Sometimes, zoning out is the only way to stay grounded.
Sincerely,
That Kid’s Proud Mom
P.S. If you’re interested in more about parenting or family building, consider checking out this useful resource. And for more insights into home insemination, visit this blog post.
Summary
In this heartfelt letter, a mother reflects on a judgmental comment made by a diner regarding her child’s behavior during brunch. She shares insights on parenting a child with autism, highlighting the challenges and the coping mechanisms used. The letter serves as a reminder to look beyond surface behaviors and understand the complexities that may be at play.