Nearby there was a little guy, probably around the age of 3, 4 at the latest. He watched Matthew laughing, hopping, stimming, and his eyes were like saucers. I knew the look. I should. I've seen that look countless times over 14 years. The kid was scared. Not quite lip quivering, crocodile tear crying, from the toes up screaming scared but scared just the same. I guess I can understand. This little guy probably reaches one of Matthew's knees and here he's watching this big kid acting...well...weird...different..
I watched this little guy, wondering if I should say something or if I should continue noshing on my sweet onion chicken teriyaki on flat bread and let things be as they were. Then I watched Matthew with his ear to ear smile touching his fingers to his lips as he does when he's excited. He took a step in the little guy's direction and the little guy seemed to freeze where he stood. I've seen that before too. So I spoke.
"His name is Matthew," I said.
The little guy looked at me, still kinda fearful.
"He wants to say hi," I said.
No sooner had I said that, Matthew stopped stimming and held out his hand. He gave this little guy a sideways glance and said, "Hi,"
The little guy, still looking fearful, took Matthew's hand, gave it a shake, and went on his way.
No meltdowns.
No terrified screams.
No....anything.....
They shook hands.
That part was great.
It was the look...the look I've come to memorize since Matthew's diagnosis.
The look of fear.
The look that says my son is to be avoided.
The look that says my son is an animal.
The look that says my son will never be like other young men his age.
The look that tears my heart out.
Yes, I know this look. I am familiar with this look. I can describe it from memory.
Am I used to it after 14 years?
No.
Will I ever be?
Not likely!
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