I was at Chick-fil-A when I noticed you: a mom with three kids, one hand holding the tray of food, the other stretched out as you leaned in close to your boys. Your five-year-old had pointed and shouted, “Mom, look at THAT boy!” My little boy, Malachi, sat in his wheelchair, braces framing his legs. I saw your face go pale as you leaned toward him with a dual instinct—to hush them and protect—but your whispers were lost in the din of the restaurant and the innocent volume of young voices.
Your first reaction—stunned silence as you tugged at them—was completely human. Parenting doesn’t come with an instruction manual for unexpected encounters like that. But what you did next—well, that’s worth everything.
You took a deep breath. That pause took courage.
You brought your boys over to Malachi. “I bet he would like to know your names,” you said. My son lights up like a Christmas tree when he connects with another child. As your sons took turns introducing themselves—name, age, energy—his face brightened in ways I hadn’t seen in a long time. He jabbered in response, his grin so wide it made my throat tighten.
Then they asked about his braces and his wheelchair. They asked the questions we’re sometimes too afraid to encourage. And instead of shushing, instead of shielding, you answered them—simply, openly, matter-of-factly. You said that different isn’t scary. That sometimes asking questions is how we learn. That curiosity can bloom into understanding.
I watched you—flustered, yes, at first—but then strong, so beautifully strong. You taught your boys that respect doesn’t always mean silence. Sometimes it means engagement. Sometimes it means modeling empathy right when it matters.
Raising a child with special needs often becomes a practice in thick skin. We endure looks, whispered comments, the occasional misstep from someone trying to do the right thing but just not sure how. But with that moment—your moment—you gave us grace. You helped all our sons be seen and celebrated for who they are.
So to you, the mom of three at Chick-fil-A, thank you. Thank you for turning a painful pause into a warm embrace. Thank you for letting your sons learn the beauty of difference—face-to-face, with curiosity, with kindness, and with courage.
You gave my son something to remember. You gave me something to remember. Thank you.
— Leah Carroll