We need to do better

Two weeks ago we met an eight year old boy and girl, both with autism and intellectual disabilities/delays at a playground behind a school. We greeted them and their aides. We eventually asked if they would like to play with my twins. Jill didn't care too much, she was content to sit under the tree. It really was a hot morning. Jack didn't move from his spot, BUT he was interested. (Not their actual names, but let's pretend they are).

I asked Jack if wanted to play with my twins, he could go down the slide with the girls and take turns, or he could climb the wall climber and take turns. It would be fun. Don't ya know he walked over and started to play with my twins? And don't you know even though Jack never verbalized, he played great with my twins, and they had no problems communicating in the language of Playing Children?

The aide turned and said almost flabbergasted- "He never does that, he's never social." 
Hmm, my thought? "Maybe you need to do better. Maybe you just need to understand his world instead of expecting him to join yours. Maybe we need to do better. Inclusion freaking works! How many more studies must we shove down the throats of this city's school board until they understand secluding our kids in autistic support classrooms is not the answer!"  But I digress.

A little later I asked my twins if they wanted to drink some of my iced tea. It was a hot morning and we'd been there a while. Neither of my girls wanted too. Jack went all Ninja Stealth on me and before I knew it he was standing next to me touching the straw and cup holding my iced tea. Aide was freaking out, "OMG, is he touching your cup, Jack you DON'T DO THAT!" She was screeching and coming over to grab his arm by the end of the sentence. Lady needed a chill pill. I  wanted to say: "Lady, I have 3 kiddos, no biggie." Instead I laughed and quickly calmed her down.

I said to Jack: "Honey, I can't give you my iced tea because I don't know your mommy. But maybe next time I'll get to meet your mommy and I'll bring you your own iced tea and ask her if I can give it to you. Would that be okay?" 

Jack nodded and motioned for my cup again.
"Jack, are you thirsty? You want some water?" I asked.
Again he nodded or he may have said yes. Either way, verbalizing was pointless because I understood. I turned to his aide and said "there's a water fountain inside if you want to fill his cup."  Turns out Jack had spilled her water bottle earlier and his aide hadn't realized he'd probably been trying to tell her that he was thirsty. 

I wish more folks would make a better effort to understand and enter an autism child's world. Why do we always expect and demand that they enter our world? If we hadn't been there, would that child played? Would he have remained thirsty?

I left soon thereafter. The experience has remained on my mind. We need to do better. I don't know how else to say it. We, as a society, need to do better.