As some of you know, my son is autistic. He struggles with social skills, doesn’t speak very clearly due to fine motor delays—though he is working hard to overcome this, and he tires easily. He has been invited to very few birthday parties—though he enjoys the ones he has attended. And those who invite him? They genuinely seem to enjoy his company, urging him to join in games and participate. Usually, I accompany him, just in case. But I stay well off in the background and let him do his thing. Being able to witness those moments though—that’s what I live for, catching flashes of my little boy coming out of his shell. Gathering snapshots of the person he has every capability of being: warm, funny, friendly and included.

But my son has never had any kind of one-on-one "play date" like other kids in his class, and he was very much aware of that. Though I urged him to just ask a friend for their number, and wrote ours down so he could hand it out, his social skill challenges had always proven to be a too large a hurdle for him to tackle independently enough to actually ask anyone for their contact information.

Now it's summertime. And each year, without fail, he falls off of everyone’s radar, having to restart fresh in the fall when school begins. It’s a cycle, you see? By the time he gets comfortable enough to open up, especially when he’s surrounded by new people, a new class room and new expectations—all things he struggles with, the school year ends and the cycle starts all over again.

So, this past week when he cleaned out his backpack from the last day of school, he pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to me. There was a boy's name and phone number on the paper. He asked me if he could call a friend for a play date. This was progress. Huge progress. It was an enormous step towards his own independence. I was apprehensive, but so very hopeful. I understood that my son had to start making these decisions, and being proactive at some point, on his own, without my help. So, I handed over my phone and sent up a little prayer that he wouldn’t feel the pain of rejection.

Thank you, play date parent. Thank you for calling me back to talk about my son, and any issues you might need to be aware of. Thank you for asking about his autism, and making sure there were no special dietary needs. Thank you for asking about his medication, and if there is anything you would need to do, or know, just in case. Thank you for giving my son a chance—even after hearing about his behavior issues. Thank you for showing excitement for him as I explained the enormous strides he’s made over the past year to you. But most of all, thank you for still extending an invitation to him to come over and spend one-on-one play time with your son. He thoroughly enjoyed running in the sprinkler and playing with a friend who treats him as an equal, someone not so different from himself.

When my son insisted on going to the play date alone, I agreed, even though I had my doubts. I was so uneasy, and expecting the worst—I hate admitting that, but I'm human and it's the truth. I held my cell phone close all day. I didn’t move from my home, just in case. I thoroughly expected to get the call to come get him. But that call never came. You dropped him off to me, exhausted and grinning ear-to-ear, at 3 p.m., just as you’d planned. You told me he behaved exceptionally well and was very polite. He thanked you, and I thanked you. What you didn't see were the tears of gratitude that started falling the moment I closed the door.

I still can’t figure out how my son chooses who he does, and does not, want to be friends with, but I am eternally grateful that he chose your son as someone worthy of that title. Even if they never have another play date, your willingness to take a chance and give him a little taste of “normal” among all of the challenges he faces on a daily basis—that was exactly what my boy needed. And that simple gift of time is something he’ll remember long after the summer comes to a close. Thank you so very much for giving him that memory to keep.

Signed,

A humbled, and very touched Autism mommy.