Bread

For my family, going to a restaurant is tough. My son, Teddy, has autism and whether it’s the wait to get a table, the noise around him, the utensils and plates that are so tempting for him to grab, the time it takes for the food to be ready, having to sit in one spot for an extended period of time, having to sit upright (not lying down) for an extended period of time, sometimes glitchy WIFI which makes his tablet less responsive, some of the above, all of the above, or none of the above, when we do try to go out to eat, it usually goes like this.

We ask to sit in as open an area as the restaurant has, so in case he needs to get up or in case he starts screaming, we don’t disturb that many people. The host leads us to the table, and when we arrive, we strategically map out where he’ll sit so both my wife and I can tag-team him if needed.

When the waitstaff arrive, my wife asks for some kind of bread or snack immediately to ensure he’s occupied and eating. I’ve already, in less than a minute, scoured the menu and made suggestions for all three kids. They choose from that list, and I tell the waitstaff, “We’re ready to order if that’s okay.”

They’re usually shocked by how fast that happened, but they take our order nonetheless.

At this point, the tension usually spikes as the bread doesn’t come out quickly enough or if it does, he doesn’t like it. About now, he starts saying, “Home. Home.”

I’m mostly with my other two, laughing, playing one of a myriad of games we have like, “The Question Game,” “Sonbert Family Trivia,” and my personal favorite, “Next Sentence,” where one person starts a story by sharing one sentence, and we all go around in a circle, adding one sentence to the story each during our turn. My wife goes for herself and for Teddy, and by the time we leave (when we stay the entire meal), we often have a pretty cool story written, with lots of twists and turns (and unicorns, thanks to my daughter), that we’ve all contributed to.

What mostly happens next is that Teddy’s behaviors make it nearly impossible for him to stay at the restaurant, so Teddy and my wife leave, while I hang with my other two. I try not to rush them, but while they’re eating, I’m asking for my wife’s food and Teddy’s food to be wrapped up.

On a recent trip to Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, they went to the aquarium when they left, a place Teddy loves, while we finished. We met them there and after a tour of the place, they ate their food back at the hotel. That’s a good scenario.

Sometimes, they’re just out front of the restaurant, and I can see them through the window. Him, extremely frustrated, her texting me that it’s time to go, and me trying to ensure the other two don’t feel rushed while rushing them like crazy.

It’s funny. I know some people see other people on social media with fancy cars or homes or having gone on luxurious vacations, and they feel envious. For me, that doesn’t even register. For me, I see a pic of a family at a dinner, and I think, “Wow. That’s incredible.”

There’s a restaurant in my town that serves a kind of bread that Teddy loves. I know this because they include it free with entrees, so when I’ve ordered takeout, I’ve given him some. In fact, he’ll choose that bread over the pizza that I get for the kids. He loves that bread.

One day, about six months ago, we decided to try to eat an early Friday dinner at that restaurant. As soon as we sat down, I asked the hostess for some bread and butter for him. It came out right away, and he loved it in person even more than at home. He must’ve eaten eight pieces of bread and butter during that meal. We requested three separate servings of it.

We stayed, for the first time that I can remember, for an entire meal. No screaming, no plates crashing to the ground, no hitting himself in the head, and no rushing to get out of there. At one point, he began flapping and making some really excited noises and a bunch of people looked at us, but I just laughed and smiled, thinking to myself that if they’re bothered by that, they should see him when he’s upset.

We made this early Friday dinner a weekly ritual. And each of the next few meals went the exact same way as the first one.

One week, there was Friday where we got a late start, and we thought we might skip it. It’s one thing to be in a mostly empty restaurant at 4:15pm on a Friday. It’s another to be in a packed place at 6:30.

So I asked him, “Teddy, do you want to go to the restaurant or stay home?”

His answer to questions like this are invariably, “Stay home.”

Still, I always ask as I want him to feel a part of everything.

To my shock, he responded in his awesome Teddy way, that he wanted to go to the restaurant. He was not just loving it when we went, but he looked forward to it as well.

Again, the meal went great, despite the crowd, with that bread serving as the cure-all for our previous restaurant challenges.

At the end of that meal, as we were leaving, I bumped into who I believed to be the manager or the owner or somebody who made the machine run. '

I stopped him, introduced myself (turns out his name is Mike as well), and told him, with tears in my eyes how his restaurant changed my life. It changed all our lives. In a small way, but in such an important way.

Since then, every time we walk in, Mike (who btw, is a pretty tough and seemingly unemotional guy and who my neighbors have commented is a standoffish and unfriendly jerk), stops what he’s doing, piles multiple pieces of bread into a bowl, and meets us at the table as we’re sitting down.

He says hello, puts down the bread and butter, and Teddy reaches for it immediately and begins chowing down.

I’ll say, “Teddy, what do you say to Mr. Mike?” looking for a “Thank you.”

Instead he tells him, “Go tway” which means, go away.

Oh well. We’re working on it.

Last week I was in there grabbing some takeout. Mike wasn’t there, but I saw as another guy tell the guy who was packing my slices up, “Mike said to always get that guy bread and butter when he comes in.”

“Why?”

“No clue. But Mike said to do it, so do it.”

I have tears in my eyes writing this. Who knew some pieces of bread could matter that much? I sure didn’t.

Don’t discount the impact that even the slightest act of kindness can have on another person. You never know when they might need it.