by Amber Lesovoy

Created on: September 03, 2009

Food for Thought, Courtesy of the Food Court

As a mother of a severely autistic child, I tend to look at situations in public places with a little more depth than the average person might. For example, if I see a child screaming and flailing on the grocery store floor, my mind immediately jumps to the possibility that the child might have a developmental disability of some kind, rather than thinking "wow, what a spoiled brat that child is! His mother should smack some sense into him". Parenting a special needs child and spending large amounts of time with special needs people of all ages has given me a different perspective. I have great respect for this extra bit of perception, and consider it to be a valuable gift because it enables me to respond appropriately, and to help others understand something they otherwise wouldn't.

It was a typical Saturday. My husband and I, along with the two kids were headed out to the mall in Winston for a lunch out and a little window shopping. It was exactly the kind of day I love best: rainy, grey, and quiet. The mall was not all that crowded when we first came in, which is always a godsend where my son is concerned. We walked through the parking lot, both kids excitedly bouncing around and Jaymes doing his signature Jaymes babble. Something about the harsh light given off by fluorescent bulbs, and the way it shone off the polished tile floors has always been very calming to my little guy, and he was at his best that day.

From the walk into the mall, to the elevator ride, to sitting down in the food court, Jaymes was a model citizen. There was no frenzied head shaking, no spitting, and no bloodcurdling shrieks. He sat peacefully in his chair and ate his lunch. As a result, I was able to sit peacefully in my own chair and eat my own lunch.

As I was enjoying my heaping Styrofoam box of teriyaki chicken, I noticed a commotion across the food court. At first it was just a couple of people turning, then it became a cacophony of chairs scraping and voices as people saw the disturbance and began to comment aloud. Some wanted to call security; others wanted to call the police. The cashier at Sonic pointed and laughed.

In a perfect world, the sight of an obviously disabled person would not cause ripples of laughter and haughty indignation in quite a few of the occupants of the food court. However, this is obviously not that perfect world. As the fifteen year old boy ran toward the arcade, flapping his hands and making loud squealing

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