My son is five years old and gearing up for kindergarten, where he’ll soon be navigating the wave of elementary school birthday parties. The invitations are already coming in.
Due to his cerebral palsy, we made the decision early on to enroll him in a preschool designed for inclusion. This environment has been nothing short of magical, filled with experiences that I could only dream of. His classmates, who develop typically, scramble to push him in his wheelchair, and his feeding therapist even joins him at lunch, encouraging him with cheers of “crunch crunch crunch” as he eats his pretzels. He participates in circle time, sitting with his legs crossed, supported by an aide ready to catch him if he trips.
Despite this wonderful inclusion, I sometimes forget the realities of his condition—until birthday party season rolls around.
One of the first invitations I found in his cubby was surprising, almost like a nostalgic jack-in-the-box. It featured a trampoline on the cover and read, “Have a Bouncing Good Time Celebrating Max’s 5th Birthday at SkyZone Trampoline Park this Saturday!” in sparkly lettering.
As Max wheeled my son over and asked if we would attend, I hesitated. How do you explain to a nearly-five-year-old that I need to check our availability for something so significant? “I hope he comes,” Max said with wide, hopeful eyes.
So, the week before the party, we decided on a practice run to the trampoline park. I wanted to see how we would manage. The flashing lights and upbeat music were a bit overwhelming, but my son took it all in stride, absorbing the atmosphere like a little Buddhist monk. I carefully unstrapped his legs and assisted him step by step up the stairs toward the sea of trampolines.
Once we reached the surface, I helped him test it out, moving cautiously like two elderly bunnies. “This is going well!” I thought—until it wasn’t. Suddenly, we were engulfed by a swarm of kids launching themselves into the air, and before I knew it, we were knocked over. We ended up on the edge of the trampoline, lying down while “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” played in the background.
The following week, I dropped off a gift in Max’s cubby and politely RSVP’d “No” to his mom.
Over the past couple of years, we’ve had our share of “no’s” to places like play gyms or pools where the bright lights and chaotic energy can be too much, even for me. But we’ve also had some wonderful “yes’s”—visits to the zoo, rides on Thomas the Train, and trips to the latest Pixar movie.
As we approach kindergarten, I want to reach out to the parents of my son’s future classmates: “Please keep inviting us. We may not always be able to join you, and there may be times we have to decline, but it means the world to us to be included. He’s just like any other child; he wants to be asked.”
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In summary, please continue to include my son in your birthday invitations. Even if we can’t attend every event, the gesture matters immensely and helps him feel like a part of the group.
Keyphrase: Keep inviting my son to birthday parties
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