Monday evening Samara babysits Martin. It’s my big night on the town.
As I was leaving yesterday, around 5:30 pm, Samara was heating dinner and Martin was playing in the loft space above our entry hall.
Playing alone. Score for Martin.
From the living room, I yelled, “Martin! Where are you?”
Martin appeared in the loft door.
Understanding that I needed to see him. Score for Martin.
“I’m leaving now,” I said. “I love you very much.”
“I love you too, Mommy.”
An appropriate response, including the use of “too” and addressed directly to me. Score for Martin.
I asked, “Can you blow me a kiss?”
Martin placed his hand to his lips, then waved it toward me.
Direction, albeit simple direction, followed. Score for Martin.
I tossed a kiss at him and departed.
Later, after drinks with parents from Martin’s school, I met a church friend for dinner. This friend knows that Martin has autism. At some point during dinner, he said, “I hope it’s okay to say this and it doesn’t make you mad or anything: When I see Martin at church, he looks just like all the other kids.”
A friend doesn’t want to offend me when he says Martin looks like any other kid. Score for everyone involved.