Something truly wonderful happened today—something that reminded me why advocating for inclusion and educating others matters so profoundly.

My son Hudson and I were at the elementary school for my other son Colton’s parent-teacher conference. We found a quiet corner in the library, Hudson sitting beside me while I reviewed some notes for the meeting. The library was calm, a soft hum of pages and whispers filling the space.

Suddenly, a 4th-grade class shuffled in. They walked in a straight line, quietly, each student returning books, their attention focused on the task at hand. I didn’t think much of it until one of the children noticed Hudson.

He pointed and asked, “Hey, is that Hudson?”

My heart skipped a beat. I braced myself—pointing can go many ways, and usually, as a parent, you prepare for the worst. But then I heard another child say, “Yeah, that’s Hudson!”

And in that moment, everything changed.

All of the kids turned to him, smiles spreading across their faces. They waved, calling his name, trying to get him to wave back. It was like Hudson had become the star of the library, and for a moment, I was overwhelmed with emotion.

Earlier this year, we had brought Hudson to school for World Down Syndrome Day. We presented to the students, showing them what Down syndrome is, but more importantly, what it isn’t. We taught them that being different is not a bad thing, that disability is not a bad word, and that everyone has their own unique tools and strengths.

We shared photos of Hudson doing everyday activities—dressing up for Halloween, playing at the park, visiting Disneyland—highlighting that he enjoys life just as much as they do. We explained that individuals with Down syndrome have the same feelings, dreams, and desires as everyone else.

At the time, I hoped that our words had made an impression. I prayed that the students would take what they learned to heart, that they would understand how to treat individuals with kindness and respect, and that they would learn to include those who are different.

Today, that hope was realized.

These children didn’t hesitate. They weren’t shy or awkward. They weren’t afraid of Hudson or unsure how to interact with him. They waved freely, smiled genuinely, and called his name with excitement. They acknowledged his differences without hesitation or judgment—they just saw him.

Seeing Hudson being recognized, celebrated, and included in such a natural and joyful way reminded me of the power of education, the importance of early advocacy, and the beauty of inclusion.

It wasn’t just a wave or a greeting—it was a lesson in empathy, acceptance, and humanity. It was a tangible reminder that when we teach children to celebrate differences, we create a world that is kinder, more compassionate, and more inclusive.

Hudson’s presence in that library, and the children’s reaction to him, showed me that advocacy truly works. That teaching empathy at a young age leaves a lasting impact. That inclusion is not just a word, but a practice—and one that can be as simple as waving and saying hello.

It was one of those moments where my heart felt full beyond measure. Hudson was seen, celebrated, and loved just as he is. And I left the library today knowing that the seeds of kindness we plant in children truly do grow.

Inclusion is powerful. Education is transformative. And a simple act—like waving at a friend—can ripple out and change the world.