"Dear Mother-I-Don't-Know..."

A letter I hope finds her this Mother's Day

Before I share this letter, there is a story you need to know:

A few months back, my two-year-old son and I were on an early morning grocery run. Due to a slight misalignment of his eyes (called exotropia) he wears an eye patch for a few hours each day. I usually try to have him wear it first thing, so he often wears his pirate patch when we grab groceries before preschool.

This particular morning my son and I were checking out when one of the employees came over to help bag our groceries. I’ve interacted with this employee - who I’ll call George - a number of times. He’s a tall man, probably in his early 20s, and happens to be neurodiverse and/or intellectually disabled.

George boldly asked “What’s wrong with his eye?” as people often do. I explained that my son has something like a lazy eye, so the patch is training his eye muscles to be stronger.

At this point, George excitedly began to quote a scene from his favorite movie An American Tale: Feivel Goes West (which also happens to be one of my favorite movies from childhood).

“Give him the LAZZZYYYYY EYE,” George said. Over and over and over. As he bagged, and as he walked with us to the car, and as I loaded my groceries in to the trunk and my son into the carseat, and as he generously took the cart back to the store for me.

We often share these small moments with George, and I went on my way as I always do.

A few days later we found ourselves back at the grocery store, with the pirate patch, and with George. He excitedly approached us to remind us of his favorite movie quote. He then said something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about:

“My mom was embarrassed when I told her about your son’s eye patch.”

So, here is my letter to George’s mom:

Dear Mother-I-Don’t-Know,

Your son told me you were embarrassed about the eye patch interaction.

But, I need you to know what I see when I see your son.

Behind his hard work pushing carts and bagging groceries, I see years of hard work in IEP meetings, doctor’s offices, and therapies. I feel the decades of worry for an uncertain future. And I feel the pride you must feel for his independence at work.

Behind his movie quotes I see a person eager to connect. I feel excitement and joy that I wish most people carried with them each day. I am reminded to lean into the things that I love, and appreciate those who understand how important those passions are to me.

When your son goes out of his way to help others with their carts in the parking lot, I see compassion that was thoughtfully modeled by patient caregivers and loving parents.

When I see your son, I feel hope. Not only for my own neurodiverse child, but for the many children in our world like her.

I understand why you felt embarrassed, but please know that what I see is not what they see.

I see him.

And I see you.

Happy Mother’s Day.