Last night, I strolled through a nearly deserted mall with my two youngest children. Behind us, a group of five girls trailed a few yards back. We had just enjoyed a movie, and spirits were high as we made our way to meet up with my older kids. We paused to snap a photo at one of those fun cutout boards, and I noticed you all giggling and enjoying yourselves. I recognized the excitement of being a teenager at the mall; it’s a delightful time.
As we continued walking, my son fell a little behind while adjusting his earbuds, getting lost in his music—typical behavior for a 13-year-old boy. However, if you had taken a peek at his playlist, you’d have realized he’s not your average teen. He was likely jamming to Disney songs or something from The Fresh Beat Band. You probably didn’t notice anything unusual about him until you saw him running a few steps to catch up, his awkward, toe-running gait likely looking amusing to you.
The mall’s emptiness allowed me to hear your innocent laughter morph into something more contemptuous. I suspected what was happening before I turned around, but I couldn’t help myself. When I did look, I saw one of you imitating my son’s gait while the others laughed. My children were blissfully unaware, focused on their own little world, which is often the case for kids with special needs.
In an instant, I felt my emotions shift from joy to anger. I took a few steps towards you, and I could see your laughter die down. The looks on your faces shifted to guilt and embarrassment—you’d been caught. I think I managed to say something like, “My son has autism. I hope you’re not making fun of him.” Your stammering denials didn’t convince me; I had seen the truth with my own eyes.
As I turned back to rejoin my kids, thankful that my son was immersed in his music and probably wouldn’t have understood the exchange anyway, I reminded myself that you are just kids. Most likely, you’re decent girls most of the time, but one of you made an impulsive choice to mock my son, and the others followed along. I had to remind myself that you each have families who love you, just as I love my children. Maybe you thought making fun of someone was harmless fun—an innocent laugh at someone else’s expense.
Perhaps your school keeps kids with special needs separate, or maybe it’s just acceptable among your friends to tease those who are different. My son, Tate, attends a small school where he is accepted, and his peers help him fit in without ridicule. In fact, had some of his friends been with him last night, I believe they would have defended him more than I did.
I must admit, I’m unsure if confronting you was the right action. I’ve never witnessed anyone mock my son before; in fact, I can’t recall any instance in thirteen years of him being made fun of. So, how does it feel to be the first to break that streak?
If statistics hold true, there’s a chance that one of you may have a child or grandchild with a disability someday. I don’t wish that upon anyone, but if it does happen, I hope you never have to remember that time you laughed at someone’s differences and caused a mother heartache. The weight of that memory could be heavy to carry.
If you want to read more about topics like this, check out this post on our blog here. For more in-depth information on pregnancy, visit this useful resource. And if you’re interested in at-home insemination, you can learn more about it here.
In summary, while I was hurt by your actions, I understand that you are still learning about empathy and acceptance. I hope this experience helps you grow into kinder individuals who lift others up, rather than tear them down.