It’s 3:00 pm on a weekend afternoon in Autumn. I drove my three boys to a skateboard park we’ve been to before. As we approach the skateboarding ramps, we notice a 16-year-old boy who happens to be our neighbor.
“Carlos!!” Brady shouts out. Carlos looks up, nods but keeps his face serious. He’s practicing tricks behind the large ramps by himself, away from the others. It seems like he doesn’t want to draw attention. Meanwhile, there are five other skateboarders who are taking turns racing from one ramp to another, trying a trick or two. They seem to be very familiar with each other – cheering, clapping, laughing, saying such things as:
“DUDE! That 180 was the bomb, but man you blitzed on the way down!”
They were a tight pack with lots of laughter, high-fives all around. These high school boys were definitely the ‘experts’ on the scene, and my sons couldn’t help but notice.
Brady’s brothers, twelve-year-old Reagan and eight-year-old Cedric, skateboarded on the opposite end, careful to stay away from the side being used by this gang of pros.
But not Brady. He stood there for a moment, taking in the social gestures, the speed of the boards. He was absorbing it all. Then he did what no one dared to do.
He climbed up the ramp, stood next to one of the pros, and said rather loudly:
“How in the heck are you doing that?”
A few of the boys look over at him. Brady puts his board down with half of it hanging over the ramp, just as he had witnessed the pros doing before launching off.
“No, let me show you, bud,” the pro with the winter hat says.
Just as he’s positioning Brady’s right foot, Brady asks another question, and another guy joins in helping Brady get his feet ready for launch.
“Now, dude — just watch,” the winter hat guy says. In a split second he launches down the ramp and then chooses to stop and turn around to catch Brady’s eye.
“Just like that, little man,” he yells back. “You can do it. Lean in and just drop.”
I’m sitting on a bench outside the ramp area. I notice the whole gang of high schoolers has paused and is focused on the “little man.”
Brady launches, loses the board when he hits the ramp, but lands on his feet. He grabs his board and looks up at the guys on the ramp waiting to take a turn.
“PROGRESS! That’s progress, dude,” says one of the members.
“Yeah, you gotta lean in a bit more,” another one advises.
One extends a hand to help Brady back up to the top of the ramp. Another one briefly touches Brady’s back. The skateboarders continue to take turns ‘dropping’ off the ramps. They clap and critique one another. Brady watches. He’s with them, waiting for his next turn.
No one else tried to be a part of their gang that afternoon. I suspect they don’t feel worthy, maybe because their skill level is not up to par.
However, there’s Brady who didn’t hesitate to approach them, start a conversation, show them he was intrigued, and perhaps most importantly, how much he wanted to learn. What’s so remarkable about this true story is that my son Brady has autism.
Autism is a neurological disorder which manifests in social and communication difficulties. Brady has been working on his social skills with professionals since he was a toddler. When he was mainstreamed last year, his teachers, staff and counselors coached and supported him in building his social awareness. They worked on helping him understand the rules of conversation (listening and responding appropriately), turn-taking, and other imperative communication skills.
On a weekend afternoon, I saw my son bravely approach a group of friends he didn’t know. He didn’t hesitate to let them know he was interested in what they were doing. As each skateboarder took a turn, Brady waited for his. And because they didn’t give up trying new tricks, Brady didn’t give up either.
“Progress, dude! Keep trying!”
Oh yes, Mr. Winter Hat, you have no idea how much real progress this little dude has already made in his life of nearly ten years. I cannot believe he is socializing with strangers — a big, tough group of high schoolers, no less! Thank you for encouraging him.
And special thanks to all the people along the way who have supported and lifted Brady up even when things may have seemed a bit bleak. Just look at how he’s blossoming right before our eyes.
As his mother, I’m learning to lean in to spontaneous social opportunities for Brady by letting go of my fears that others won’t include him. There is always a risk to being so vulnerable and I’m so proud that he’s choosing to take that risk.
This is awesome! I am so happy he just got right in there with them. And their reaction was just what you hope and pray people give. Sounds like a great experience! Miss you!
Brady is so awesome. We can all learn from him – here’s to each of us being brave enough to ask for advice from the experts and not shying away from them. I love it!