It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining, it was warm outside, and Sebastian had just spent the morning at a church retreat. He had been sitting inside for a while and needed to move his body. Since my husband and other son were at a basketball tournament, I reached out to my friend in the neighborhood to see if she and her son wanted to get together.
It had been a while, since the boys had a playdate at her house. I was excited to have them hang out again but also a bit anxious about Sebastian’s behavior. He struggles with playing nicely and being a good friend. His impulsiveness makes it hard for other children to “tolerate” him.
As he scootered down to their house, we discussed his behavioral expectations for the playdate. I reminded him to stay calm, take turns, ask questions, compliment his friend, and try not to make everything a competition. When we arrived at their house, he was as prepared as he could be. The rest was up to him.
Sebastian only needed a few redirections, and when it was time to leave, he said to his friend, “We are back to being friends. I had fun today. Can I have a hug?” His friend smiled and enthusiastically said, “Yes!”
I am eternally grateful for my friend and her son. Sebastian hasn’t always been the greatest friend to her son, but she understands his disability and accepts him for who he is. She even loves him. When Sebastian has challenges playing with her son, she teaches him about forgiveness, compassion, inclusion, and acceptance. Because of her parenting, Sebastian is lucky to have a friend like him.
I try hard — really hard — with Sebastian. There’s a lot of prepping before each activity to help him be successful. And there’s much debriefing after each one, to try to teach him how to do better next time. He tries just as hard to do the right things, too, but it might not seem that way. All the extra effort is worth it because I know Sebastian is moving in the right direction.
It’s a journey, and the path is never straight. He’s lucky to have a friend — and so am I — who accepts him just the way he is.