Any mother worries about her child finding the right friend, the right companion that will accept all the quirks and joys that make him “him.” Mothers of children with differences worry even more that your average mom. I have zero statistical evidence with which to support this statement, but I’m basing this on my own level of worry, which is typically akin to Terror Threat Level Red.

Then, one day, I watch as a friend creates this piece of chalk artwork in my driveway. My son is nearby, drawing a school bus with the yellow chalk (because school buses are the singular obsession of his life right now. Quirky? You bet.) This little girl does not care that my son is obsessed with school buses (and their windshield wipers and their turn signals and their license plate numbers and their registration stickers…). In fact, I’m pretty sure she plays right along with it. What I do know is that she’s in my driveway after a wonderful afternoon playing happily with my son, writing their names in brightly colored chalk, proclaiming their friendship in the most beautiful, innocent way that only a second-grader can do.

I’m reminded of this song by the White Stripes, and for the friendship of this little girl and my son, I am most sincerely grateful.

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