So… somehow, Harrison has officially completed his first full year of preschool.

That’s one of those milestones that’s hard to wrap your head around. Part of me feels like he just started school last month, but it’s been over a year since we dropped him off on that first day, full of unknowns.

We didn’t know how he’d react. We didn’t know how he’d behave being away from us. We just hoped it would be okay.

And now? Looking back after a full year…

I can’t imagine us not sending him.

I could write for days about Harrison’s teachers and the incredible people surrounding him at school.

They’re not just educators, they’re individuals who’ve taken the time to truly know our son. They’ve learned his personality. They’ve figured out how to read him, support him, and help him navigate everything from circle time to transitions throughout the day, to just being part of the class.

And while you hope for that kind of care… when you actually see it? It hits different.

The Part I Didn’t Expect

What really caught me off guard this past school year, the thing I never fully anticipated, is this:

Our son has friends.

Kids who look for him.

Who include him.

Hold his hand.

Play beside him.

Cheer him on.

They don’t see Harrison as different. They just see Harrison.

We’re lucky to have a teacher who sends updates nearly every day, complete with photos.

Now, Harrison’s facial expressions are something else entirely (and yes, we’ve got the evidence). But the ones that hit me the hardest, the ones that bring a lump to my throat, are the shots of him with a friend:

• Holding a toy so Harrison can knock it over
• Lying on the floor next to him, being silly
• Holding his hand, helping him across the room

The number of times I’ve seen photos or videos and have had to wipe away tears is crazy. Truly, they strike an emotion that I cannot put into words to save my life. I wish I could. I wish I could find the words to express the overwhelming feeling it is, to see your child, who is so different from others, be treated as if he’s not.

That stuff matters.

That Quiet, Lingering Guilt

One of the thoughts that haunts me sometimes—the one that creeps in late at night—is this:

Is Harrison getting to have a real childhood?

He’s always got something on the schedule: doctors’ appointments, therapies, etc. And while he has cousins close to his age, it’s hard. They don’t always know how to play or connect with him.

He hasn’t really had that chaotic, goofy cousin time that so many of us grew up with.

But at school…

He’s found that.

In these kids.

In this environment.

And it means everything.

No Labels. Just Harrison.

To his classmates, he’s not “different.” He’s not “the kid who walks funny” or “the one who can’t talk.”

He’s just Harrison.

They don’t judge.

They don’t think less of him.

They just accept him. Completely.

And I know that won’t last forever. I know the world doesn’t always stay kind. I know the older he gets, the harder it may be.

But for now? I’m holding onto this moment with everything I’ve got.

To the Teachers and the Parents – Thank You

If you’re one of Harrison’s teachers (and you know who you are), or a parent of one of his friends, just know this:

There are no words big enough.

You’ve helped lay a foundation we never could have built on our own. You’ve shown up for our son, not just as a peer, but as a person. You’ve taken the time to understand that Harrison experiences the world differently. And even if you don’t fully understand that world, you’ve acknowledged it exists.

That kind of effort? It changes lives.

It’s already changed ours.

What’s Next

Harrison has one more year of preschool. Some of his friends will move on to kindergarten, and he’ll meet new classmates. New friends. New challenges.

But thanks to you; his teachers, his friends, and the parents, we’re sending him into that next chapter with confidence and connection.

So, from one deeply grateful dad, trying to find the right words:

Thank you.

For letting Harrison just be Harrison.

For helping him just be a kid.