I wanted to hug his mother, but I refrained.

Her son immediately caught my attention while we were standing in line to ride the kiddie roller coaster Wednesday evening. His small fingers traced the decorative carvings in the fence separating us from the ride’s controls and controller. Though crowded, he had created a space to explore, to think, to be hidden in the shadow of his mom. 

Her stance was familiar: loving and on alert. She was giving him guarded freedom, at ease with herself and her child…in a society that stares. 

Then Jonathan drew me close and whispered, “Mommy, is he deaf? Is that a hearing aid? Is he hurting?” 

This was a huge step for Jonathan. Years of coaching through somewhat sensitive situations (e.

g., “You look like old pudding.”) have imbedded in his guileless heart that he needs to whisper inquiries about other’s mannerisms and appearances to Mom instead of shout his sincere questions to unsuspecting strangers. This precious boy had multiple special needs, but Jonathan was concerned about whether the Cochlear Implant was painful: “My love, the hearing device does not hurt. I helps him interpret vibrations and perhaps even hear sounds.” 

Jonathan broke the ice: “How do you say HI in sign language?” he asked the boy’s mom. Then before she could answer, he placed his head near the blue wooden fence line and began to wave. 

Eyes. Enormous blue eyes greeted our trio. Though they could not focus together, both clearly said, “Hello!” 

The four of us now circled around the boy, like friends around a beautiful campfire. His mother weighed us and—seeing more sincerity than curiosity—explained that Christian was deaf. I whispered to Jonathan, who took my cue and offered, “I also have special needs. I have Asperger’s Syndrome.” 

The mom paused thoughtfully, then leaned over to become eye-level with Jonathan. Tenderly, slowly, she said, “Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” Then she looked into my eyes. And, for the first time, she really saw me. Our faces silently exchanged a thank-you: “thank you for seeing, for valuing my special son.” 

“I’m a movie-maker,” Jonathan ventured. “I’m a dancer,” Keona added softly. Christian’s mom interpreted and the boy lit up. He was fascinated by Jonathan’s chosen profession. 

A few minutes later, Christian and his mom stepped into the last car of the roller coaster and the blue gate separated us. While the ride operator checked safety bars, Christian’s eyes were fixed on Jonathan and Keona and his hands were signing: 

movie maker, me, friends

dancer, me, friends

Five minutes of friendship. And a deposit of mutual value that will appreciate for a lifetime.