A trip to Goodwill

Yesterday afternoon Rose and I found ourselves wandering Johnson County again, waiting for Waylon to be done at school. So we took a trip to Goodwill for a little bargain-shopping.
A few hours into our shopping experience, we decided to meander to the front of the store and get in line, so we could meander our way back to pick him up. A woman came in the store, following a boy who was pretty much running. He was bouncing up and down, eyes wide with excitement. (Obviously he was as excited about the Goodwill as I was.)
His mom (I'm assuming?) said "Wait" and he blurted out in his excited, but dysphasic voice "WAIT" and when she, in her mother-of-a-special-needs-kid way, herded him out of the way of others and said, "Come here, Ben," he blurted out an echo- "COME HERE, BEN."
Of course, I knew. In my mother-of-a-special-needs-kid way, I just knew.
First reaction- fascination. Second reaction- compassion.
I failed to mention that this "boy" was probably in his late teens, maybe even a young adult. I tried my darndest not to stare (I know what those daggers feel like) but immediately some fifty thousand thoughts flooded my mind, and I couldn't help it.
How old is he? How well does he function? Does he still live at home? Where does he go to school? What kind of therapies did they try? What worked? What didn't? I need to know!!!
When I realized I was probably staring, I realized what she saw in me at that moment, because I too, have had those thoughts- who do you think you are, with your cute little girl on a cute little shopping trip? You don't understand!
Oh, but I do understand, and I wanted nothing more than to run up and give that lady a big hug, and then bring her home with me and pour her a cup of coffee and sit and talk for hours.
But, obviously, she had a bit on her plate at that moment.
Perhaps too, years of those trips had given her the grace and strength to ignore those staring daggers. Perhaps she and her son were out for an enjoyable afternoon shopping trip. And perhaps they had a wonderful time.
I'm gonna hang on to that thought.
In the meantime, as I spend countless hours on the road to and from Waylon's therapies, I daydream and contemplate and pray, about where that fascination and compassion will lead me. I feel as though Waylon and this world of autism have given me some sort of a greater purpose- but I have yet to figure it out.
I'll keep you updated.