Black and white photo of three young boys running downhill through a field.
When I think about what our kids deserve, I don’t start with services, plans, or policies.
I start with the truth.
They deserve to walk into a room and belong there.
Without condition. Without needing to earn it. Without apologizing for who they are.
They deserve dignity.
Not tolerance.
Not pity.
Not gold-star charity from people who’ve never questioned their own power.
They deserve teachers who see their potential and systems that don’t punish their wiring.
They deserve to be met where they are—and supported in where they’re going.
They deserve fellow students who know how to be friends with them.
Peers who’ve been taught what inclusion looks like beyond the poster on the wall.
Classmates who aren’t awkwardly kind one minute and cruel the next.
Kids who know how to ask, “Wanna play?” and mean it.
Because our kids deserve friendship that’s real.
Not because it was assigned.
Because it was taught. Modeled. Expected. Normal.
They deserve schools that value that kind of connection, where difference isn’t just accepted, but understood.
And as their parents, we deserve systems that stop putting the burden on us to navigate hostile terrain with a smile on our face and a folder full of documentation just to get what’s legally owed.
And we deserve more than “partnership” language printed in the handbook.
We deserve grace.
Grace when we’re late because mornings are hard.
Grace when we advocate harder than the system is used to.
Grace when we show up exhausted—because we’ve been doing this every day, even when no one sees it.
This month—and every month—we’re not just raising awareness.
We’re telling the truth about what our kids deserve.
