LA: Welcome back to Special Needs Daily, because laughter is a therapy we can all afford. So yesterday, I braved the community pool alone with both boys. Yes, yes, I did. because sometimes I wake up and I feel like I'm all that in a bag of chips. So I'm going to need everyone to acknowledge the courage involved here because my boys are teenagers now. One is five nine, the other is quickly surpassing five seven. They've got five o'clock shadow. They wear floaties. They don't speak. And I am just one woman. So basically, I wasn't going swimming. was reporting for Navy SEAL duty. My boys love the water. I mean they absolutely love it. And yet, despite moving here a couple months ago, I've put off taking them to our community pool. Not because I don't want them to have fun and have the best days ever. It's just because sometimes I don't have the bandwidth to explain them to all the judgmental stairs. And trust me, my head is on a swivel. I see them everywhere the boys and I go. They're practically man-sized. Why do they have floaties? Why aren't they responding? Why are they doing that? And I understand the curiosity. Really, I do. But sometimes I just want to take my boys to the pool and let them enjoy themselves without feeling like I need to hand out a frequently asked question sheet when we get there. They're autistic, they're nonverbal, they're teenagers, they're big boys, and they Absolutely love being in the water. Sometimes I just want that to be enough of an explanation. And yes, sometimes there's also a little voice in my head saying, mind your own business. Don't look at us. But yesterday I decided we were going. And there were two younger boys there. I'm guessing maybe 10 and 12. My boys couldn't have cared less. They were in the water, their favorite place on earth. They were happy. End of story. But these two little boys, they were determined to play with them. And I mean determined. They kept swimming over. splashing, trying to get their attention, trying to play with their pool noodles. And my boys were smiling. They were clearly enjoying these two new additions and having a great time. But they weren't responding in a way these other boys understood. So I'm in the pool, leaning against the side, like I'm posing for sports illustrated special needs mom edition. When one of these adorable little boys swims over to me. And he looked a little sad and honestly a little concerned too. And he says, They're ignoring me. Why don't they like me? my heart. Because he wasn't being mean. He wasn't making fun of them. He was trying. And to see that happening in real time, what a gift. Special needs parents know the feeling that I'm talking about. This sweet little boy had been doing everything he knew how to do to make two new friends. And ugh, God, this sucks. He thought he'd been rejected. So I quickly explained to this beautiful little human that my boys weren't ignoring him. They don't speak to anyone. They have autism. His expression made me think he was at least a little familiar with autism. So rather than go into a whole thing about it, I pointed to the boys. They were smiling while his brother was splashing with them. And I said, See that? They're having fun with you guys. That's how you know. And you can almost see this little boy processing it. Like, okay. I showed him how to put his fingertips and thumb on each hand together and tap them together. Then I told them if you're splashing with them, noodle sword fighting, playing tag, whatever you're doing, and you want to know if they want to keep playing, ask them if they want more. If they nod, yes, keep playing. and this heaven sent kid got it immediately. And then I watched with such a full heart. As he showed his brother. His brother got it too. They'd splash the boys, use the sign for more, wait for a nod, and then keep going. And just like that, there were four boys playing together in a swimming pool. No awkwardness, no big explanation, no pity. Nobody needed my boys to communicate like everybody else. These two kids just needed someone to show them. how my boys communicate. And once they understood, they went right back to playing. It was really that simple. Whew. And then I see what I believe to be their mother walking toward the side of the pool where I'm standing. Now, special needs moms know this feeling. Or maybe it's just me because I'm a Jersey girl. But when another parent starts walking toward you with purpose, there's that split second where your entire body goes, Okay, here we go. Assume the stance. And truthfully, if she was coming over to say something offensive about my boys, I was already in the water. So I was absolutely ready to dunk her ass if need be. I'm kidding. Sort of. so she sits on the edge of the pool and puts her feet in next to me. And I brace myself, hoping she can't see me wincing behind my sunglasses. Then her mouth opens and the words thank you come out. I'm thinking, do I have water in my ears? But she keeps going. She thanks me for taking the time to explain my boys to her sons in a way that they can understand. I exhale. What a relief. We're good. But before I can really enjoy that moment, she says. You and your husband are doing such a great job. I applaud you both. Literally choked on my spit. no, I'm sorry. no, it's just me. And like most people who find out I'm doing this by myself, her whole expression changed. You know the look. That whole my goodness, you poor thing, you're doing this all by yourself. Yeah, I get that a lot. But standing there in the pool talking to her and watching all four boys continue to play together, something hit me like a ton of bricks. I almost didn't come. I've been putting off taking the boys to the pool because I had already imagined all the things that could go wrong. The looks, the questions, the explanations, keeping two teenage boys safe in the water by myself, having to explain why these two very tall teenagers. with five o'clock shadow are wearing floaties and don't answer when someone speaks to them. And of course, my complete inability to silence the jersey in me. So I had mentally prepared myself for judgment before we'd even left the house. And instead, we walked into absolute kindness. What a gift. These two little boys didn't know much about autism. They didn't understand why my boys weren't responding to them. And at first, one of them got his feelings hurt because he interpreted their silence the way most of us probably would. He thought it meant rejection. But once it was explained to him, that was it. He didn't need a seminar on autism. He didn't need to understand every aspect of my boys. He just needed enough information to understand they're not ignoring you, they communicate differently. And rather than swimming away, he learned how to meet them there. That was such a priceless gift to this mom who is always at the ready to fight to the death when there's even a chance somebody might mock or bully my boys. We talk so much about inclusion. We talk about awareness and acceptance and understanding and all those things matter. But at the pool yesterday, I watched two kids make inclusion look incredibly simple. They just wanted to play with my boys, and they were determined to figure out how. So they asked. I showed them and they played. That's it. and maybe us adults could learn something from that. I know I did because sometimes we get so uncomfortable around people who communicate differently, behave differently, move differently, or experience the world differently that we become afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. Kids don't always carry all of that baggage. These two certainly didn't. They basically wanted to know, okay, so how do we play with them? I showed them one sign and off they went. But there was another lesson in that pool. And unfortunately, this one was for me. I realize I've gotten very good at anticipating how people might react to my boys and protecting them from those reactions. Maybe. Too good. When you've spent years explaining them, protecting them, and advocating for them, you learn to never leave home without putting your armor on. And yes, sometimes that armor is absolutely necessary. I am not hanging it up permanently. I'm from Jersey. Let's not get crazy. But I realized I may have been protecting myself from reactions that hadn't even happened yet. I almost kept my boys from doing something they absolutely love yesterday because I didn't have the energy for the judgment I assumed might be waiting for us. And instead of judgment, we found two sweet kids who desperately wanted to play with them and a mother who thanked me for helping her children understand mine. That doesn't mean every trip to the pool is going to go that way. It doesn't mean every person we encounter is going to understand. And it definitely doesn't mean special needs parents need to walk around giving everybody an Autism 101 seminar everywhere we go. Good Lord, we're tired enough. But maybe it does mean that I need to leave a little more room for people to surprise me. Because those two boys sure did. And watching them play with my boys reminded me, communication isn't only about words. My boys were communicating the entire time. They were smiling, they were laughing, they were nodding, they were staying engaged, they were splashing back. The other boys just didn't recognize those things as answers at first. But once they did, nobody seemed to care who could talk and who couldn't. They were just four boys having a blast in a swimming pool. And that was pretty damn beautiful. so to those two sweet boys, thank you for not giving up when my boys didn't respond the way you expected. Thank you for asking why instead of assuming you knew the answer. And thank you for wanting to play with them enough to learn how. And to their mom, thank you for raising children whose instinct when they encountered somebody different from them wasn't to make fun of them or move away. It was to move closer. You may not realize what you gave this mom But I do. And while I was standing there watching four boys have an absolute blast together without my boys saying a single word, I had two thoughts. My first was you need to keep pushing yourself so the boys can have these wonderful experiences. And my second was, my god, I have my next podcast episode. my goodness. Because apparently I can't have an emotional breakthrough anymore without immediately thinking about how I can use it to help another parent. So if you're a special needs parent listening to this and you've been avoiding your own version of that pool, I get it. Maybe it's the park, maybe it's a birthday party, maybe it's a restaurant, maybe it's simply somewhere you know you're going to have to explain your child again. And you just don't have it in you that day. You don't owe everybody an explanation every time you leave your house. And I'm certainly not going to tell you everyone out there will understand. They won't. But I'm going to try to remember what happened to me at that pool the next time I find myself expecting the worst before we've even left the house. Because sometimes the questions we're dreading aren't coming from judgment. Sometimes they're coming from someone who genuinely wants to understand. And sometimes the person we're preparing ourselves to defend our child against turns out to be the person teaching their child how to embrace ours. I almost missed that. Actually, we almost missed all of it. And I'm really glad we didn't. And before I go, God, give us an abundance of strength, stamina, patience, compassion for whatever today brings. And please always give us enough space to find the laughter. Amen. And please know you're doing way better than you think.