When Lucas hit middle school age, we made a judgment call. While the district’s special education program was great and many of his friends would be joining, he seemed better suited for a school that was dedicated to his needs. Rather than being a part of a program tailored for him in a mainstream setting, it felt more appropriate to put him in a setting that was built for children who learn like him. 

Make no mistake, this was one of the most difficult decisions of my life and, after digging my feet in a year earlier, I made a personal promise to decide based on need, rather than emotion. Sending my boy off to a strange land with new people was terrifying. I spent weeks beating myself up with worry. 

It took this little bugger all of three weeks to get used to it and love the people there. The reports went from “difficult days” to “Lucas was a rock star.” I am so proud of him and all he’s done. After an initial stumbling at the starting gate, they finally see the boy we all know and love. 

The first few weeks of bus pick-ups were somewhat brutal. In typical Lucas fashion, he hated transitioning on or off. Getting him up the stairs was a hassle, only overshadowed by the hassle of getting him down the stairs when his day was done. He was screaming like Ritchie Valens’s mom at the end of La Bamba every single day.  

The matron was patient and the driver was kind during these tough times and that’s all we needed. Today, he gets right on and off with no problems and, with the exception of removing his shoes every time, Lucas has no issues transitioning. It’s part of his overall improvement and I live for that smile at the end of his long school day. 

Given that I don’t have to drag his weeping face from the bus anymore, I now have time to look around and chat with the driver. Most of the conversation revolves around reminders of when school is closed and how my son likes to take off his shoes. It’s his whole gimmick. 

Looking around the bus, I see all sorts of different kids. Before now, I only knew one. One boy, during Lucas’s early days of melting down, made me laugh because he couldn’t fathom why he would be upset. He’d smile and say, “Come on. Don’t cry. It’s just the bus.” He’d then look at everyone else and say, “It’s just the bus.” Then he’d laugh. I’d laugh too. He was right. After I would finally get my boy down the steps, I’d say, “That kid’s right, you know. It’s only the bus.”

Out of all the children though, there was one that I noticed a few weeks ago. Seated behind the driver, I saw him from the corner of my eye, staring at me. He appeared to have Down Syndrome and I couldn’t tell if he was really looking at me or just in my direction. 

There would have been a time, prior to my son, that I would have just looked away. After all, I don’t know this kid and, as is often the false perception that people have with special needs kids, I wasn’t sure if he was even aware of me. I know nothing about him. He might just be looking at the scene through the open door and I’m simply in his line of sight. 

You know what, though? Who cares? Even if he’s just looking in this direction, there was no reason to ignore him. It costs nothing to say hello and, as I’ve talked about often here, you don’t say hi just to get a hi back. What was the worst thing that could happen if I wave? He doesn’t wave back? So what? 

So I waved. It wasn’t some big exaggerated wave. Just a small little hand flap similar to how I wave to Lucas. 

Immediately, his face lit up in a huge smile and he waved back in the exact same manner. It was seriously adorable and I knew, in that moment, that I had made the right choice. 

Since then, I wave to that kid every time the bus comes and he gives me the same reaction every single time. I even change up the waves from hand flapping to back and forth windshield wiper waves. No matter the way I do it, he repeats it with the same giant smile on his face. 

This is why I want people to say hello to my son, even if they don’t know if he’ll say hello back. I see how happy it makes this boy and I know how happy it makes Lucas when people acknowledge him. Would he be OK without it? Sure. So would the kid on the bus. But who wants someone to just be OK when they can be happy?

Tell you what. When you see my son looking at you, wave. I’ll do the same for your kid. Maybe your kid can say hi back. Maybe he or she can’t. It doesn’t matter to me. That’s not why we do it. We do it because we’re all people and that’s what people do.  

Kids grow into the adults they see. Let them see the best in you. Even if you don’t get a wave back, wave anyway. Don’t cost nuthin’.

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