Dear Lisa,
Today, my 10-year-old son and I visited your Wendy’s during your shift for a quick lunch. After you greeted him and asked how his day was going, I noticed his response seemed a bit jumbled, which might have surprised you. You glanced at me and then back at him as he continued speaking—something that often happens in our daily life. As his devoted speech and language coach, I gently encouraged him, saying, “You can say, ‘I’m good!’”
Then, you did something remarkable. Instead of directing your attention to me for his order, you turned to him. He responded, and you leaned in, saying, “I think you mentioned you’d like a cup of water. Am I right?” He nodded enthusiastically. “Aren’t you going to order something to eat? What else?” When he excitedly expressed a string of words, you kindly asked him to slow down and repeat it. He managed to say, “Fries,” though it wasn’t perfectly clear. You followed up with, “What size?” and he replied, “Medium.” “Awesome! Anything else?” you asked, glancing my way. I shook my head just as he confidently said, “Nope!”
What you may not have realized in that moment was that my son has childhood apraxia of speech, but that label didn’t matter to you. Your priority was ensuring his order was correct. You didn’t simply allow him to be an equal customer; you treated him as one. You recognized his expertise and presumed his competence—not your version of it, but his own. You afforded him the dignity of time, asking for his name to place on the order screen. You even double-checked the spelling, allowing him to share that with you.
I believe you didn’t seek recognition for your kindness. You weren’t looking for accolades or to be celebrated as a hero; you simply wanted a 10-year-old boy at your counter to order his lunch as any other child would on a Friday afternoon.
Advocacy and inclusion come with their complexities. When rooted in equality, empathy, and understanding, they can create a positive impact. However, when they lack authenticity, they risk being counterproductive or even harmful. By allowing my child to be recognized for who he is, rather than treating him as a charity case, you are part of a movement that inspires genuine change in how society perceives disability.
So, thank you, Lisa, for offering my son not just a meal, but also a side of hope and inclusivity.
Warm regards,
His mom
For more insights, you might want to check out our other blog post on the couples’ fertility journey for intracervical insemination, which provides valuable information. If you’re interested in parenting tools, this article is a great read. Additionally, Mount Sinai offers excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, the cashier at Wendy’s showed genuine kindness and understanding towards my son, allowing him to express himself and take ownership of his order. This experience highlights the importance of empathy and true advocacy in fostering inclusivity for those with special needs.