To the store clerk at Old Navy:
Let's start off fair...I don't know what kind of day you had. I don't know if you got a speeding ticket on the way to work, or you and your husband got into an argument this morning. I don't know if your mom is sick, or if you haven't met the projected volume for the month at the store. I don't know if you are feeling under the weather, or if perhaps you didn't sleep a wink last night. There are a lot of things I just don't know about you.
Now here's what you don't know about me. I have a son with special needs. I have a son with a disorder that impacts his social functioning, and has a sensory component that rocks his world. My son was not born this way- he unfortunately acquired this behavioral diagnosis due to underlying medical conditions. Psychologists have labeled my son with Autism, but it is a label that I have been fighting since day one in attempt at recovery. In the past year, I have logged 1,120 hours of ABA therapy, 48 hours of occupational therapy, and countless hours of parent training in an attempt to be able to do everyday things, like coming into your store.
You probably didn't notice, but my eyes didn't leave him as I quickly searched for a birthday present for my husband. You probably didn't notice, but I would allow him to wander a few steps away, in hopes that he would come right back, which he did. You probably didn't notice, but the multiple hugs and praise I gave him were for simple things, like showing me an item, or asking me if I was OK when I bumped into a rack, or for tickling his little brother.
My son has OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder, which is inherent in his acquired PANDAS. He absolutely, positively loves Lightning McQueen. The game that he found on the shelves, that he held in his hand throughout the store, was never going home with us- I explained that to him a dozen times before we came to your checkout line.
I knew that my son would not be happy when I did not purchase that game. However, I didn't take the easy way out (and yes, I did think about it). I could have had you ring up that game, hand it to my son, and return it at a later date, and you wouldn't have batted an eye. You wouldn't have had any clue that my son even has a disability.
But instead, I did not allow him to have that game. The screaming and the hitting that ensued did turn heads in your store. The slight disruption to your day is only a minuscule glimpse into the life I lead daily. I can always feel the heat of strangers staring and passing their judgment, but I wasn't about to give in. When my son ran through your store, I did ignore him. Not because I didn't feel like dealing with it, but because that is what I have been trained to do. I didn't want him to think it was a game, so I stood there, patiently waiting, until he came back to me, which he finally did.
So, in all actuality, letting my child scream, hit, and run from me, all the while ignoring the situation at hand, doesn't make me a bad mom.
It makes me a really good one.
Now here's what you don't know about me. I have a son with special needs. I have a son with a disorder that impacts his social functioning, and has a sensory component that rocks his world. My son was not born this way- he unfortunately acquired this behavioral diagnosis due to underlying medical conditions. Psychologists have labeled my son with Autism, but it is a label that I have been fighting since day one in attempt at recovery. In the past year, I have logged 1,120 hours of ABA therapy, 48 hours of occupational therapy, and countless hours of parent training in an attempt to be able to do everyday things, like coming into your store.
You probably didn't notice, but my eyes didn't leave him as I quickly searched for a birthday present for my husband. You probably didn't notice, but I would allow him to wander a few steps away, in hopes that he would come right back, which he did. You probably didn't notice, but the multiple hugs and praise I gave him were for simple things, like showing me an item, or asking me if I was OK when I bumped into a rack, or for tickling his little brother.
My son has OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder, which is inherent in his acquired PANDAS. He absolutely, positively loves Lightning McQueen. The game that he found on the shelves, that he held in his hand throughout the store, was never going home with us- I explained that to him a dozen times before we came to your checkout line.
I knew that my son would not be happy when I did not purchase that game. However, I didn't take the easy way out (and yes, I did think about it). I could have had you ring up that game, hand it to my son, and return it at a later date, and you wouldn't have batted an eye. You wouldn't have had any clue that my son even has a disability.
But instead, I did not allow him to have that game. The screaming and the hitting that ensued did turn heads in your store. The slight disruption to your day is only a minuscule glimpse into the life I lead daily. I can always feel the heat of strangers staring and passing their judgment, but I wasn't about to give in. When my son ran through your store, I did ignore him. Not because I didn't feel like dealing with it, but because that is what I have been trained to do. I didn't want him to think it was a game, so I stood there, patiently waiting, until he came back to me, which he finally did.
So, in all actuality, letting my child scream, hit, and run from me, all the while ignoring the situation at hand, doesn't make me a bad mom.
It makes me a really good one.
Comments
Post a Comment