This week, I read in the media about how someone sent an anonymous letter full of hatred to a grandmother of an autistic boy. The letter contained so much contempt, it was hard to read.
I have a boy like Maxwell, the boy in the letter. He’s loud. He’s usually dirty. He doesn’t talk, but he does make a lot of noise. Happy shrieks, mostly.
My neighbours could complain. We live in a townhouse condo complex in Langford. He plays outside on the trampoline and shrieks his heart out.
All of the neighbours know him. And they’re awesome. They smile, they say “hi,” they toss his toys back over the fence to him.
The strata council is going out of its way to make the construction on our place as painless as possible for him. The construction company checks in with me regularly to see how he’s handling the noise.
When we went to Matheson Lake last month, and he wanted to go on the water, some young men took him for a little ride on their inflatable raft. A woman heard him crying, and brought her dogs over to distract him.
This is the West Shore. People here are nothing short of fabulous. Some of my Internet mom friends talk about the dirty looks they get when they take their kids out. I don’t get that here. Smiles of support and real inclusion. I’m grateful.