When we are in public, sometimes if my son, who is seven and special needs, is sitting quietly, it may take a few minutes for others to realize he is different. But then he will start rocking or making one of his enthusiastic noises or throat punching and people will suddenly pick up on it. Often they look at him while trying not to let me or my husband see that they are looking. They try to figure him out. And frequently, they back away. You can see the fear in their eyes. They don’t know how to handle the situation. They don’t know if they should talk to us or not. They don’t want to say the wrong thing. They feel awkward.
But you know who doesn’t feel awkward? Their kids.
Neurotypical kids in public are fascinating when they see my son. They tend to openly stare. They watch him, trying to figure out what’s different. I have seen them tilt their heads to the side, studying him, wondering why he is in a stroller when he is obviously not a baby. Or why he is eating baby food out of a container with a spoon while I sometimes hold it so the container doesn’t slide and fall to the ground. Yet my son is often physically bigger than they are. The neurotypical kids are trying to reconcile what they see with what they know.
And they are not afraid to ask.
You want to see mortification? Watch a parent who is inexperienced with special needs kids react when their neurotypical kid comes up to me and asks, point blank, “Why is he DOING that?”
I absolutely LOVE IT when this happens.
Not because of the parent’s discomfort. I wouldn’t wish discomfort on anyone. But because there is no reason to be afraid. My son LOOKS DIFFERENT. It is natural to be curious about this. I WANT people to meet my son. To get over the fear of what is different.
The worst part is when the parent tries to shush their child and looks embarrassed. I always comfort them and say something like, “No, it is WONDERFUL that your child asked! My son looks different. How smart of your child to notice. Come meet him!” I explain to the child that my son has a special brain and so he does things a little differently than everyone else. And that, even though he is just learning to talk and won’t yet say so, he is happy to meet you.
The child then usually comes right over and looks my son over carefully. They sometimes sit down next to him and try to see what he is watching on his tablet. Occasionally, they attempt to hold his hand and smile at him.
And the parent usually holds onto that strained smile, like, if the floor would crack open and create a huge hole, they would jump in without hesitation, just for this to be over.
I understand the parent’s reactions, truly I do. But think about this – they are the models for the next generation who is learning how to respond when they see a special needs child. And they, most likely inadvertently, but still, are teaching them fear and discomfort.
So it falls to us, the special needs caregivers, to be the educators (yes, I know, you don’t have enough to do). Because every time we invite neurotypical children and their families to meet our child we teach them to overcome their fear. We teach them to accept differences. We teach them what love really means.
The next time you are in public and you see ANYONE (OK, not if it’s in a creepy way)eyeballing your child with interest, invite them to come in for a closer look. Teach them. Educate them. Because, one by one, you are changing the world for your child. And for you.