There’s a lot of talk about autism awareness, but real autism acceptance? That’s something you feel—in the way people show up, in the little moments of kindness, understanding, and just letting kids be kids.
And if you’re parenting a neurodivergent child, you know these moments stick with you. They become part of your family’s story.
So today, I want to celebrate three times a business in Harrisburg & West Shore didn’t just accommodate my son, Rhys—they embraced him. They made sure he was welcome, valued, and understood.
These weren’t grand gestures. No policies were rewritten. No major announcements were made. But these small acts of kindness?
They were everything.
Let’s start with a bowl of chili that saved us during a global crisis (you may have caught this one on Facebook).
1. The Neato Burrito Chili Lifeline
Let’s rewind to April 1, 2020—when the world was upside down, people were hoarding toilet paper like it was a rare Pokémon card, and Rhys was down to a very limited repertoire of safe foods.
Now, if you’ve ever parented an autistic child with food sensitivities, you know that their list of acceptable meals isn’t really a “list” at all—it’s a sacred text. There is no negotiation. No substitutions. No “Just try it! You might like it!” That way lies madness.
And at the top of Rhys’s sacred food scroll?
👉 Neato Burrito’s vegetarian chili.
So, like clockwork, we stocked up. We were loyal. I would have tattooed their logo on my arm if it meant we’d never run out. (Good news for my mother: That never became necessary.)
Then COVID hit. And Neato Burrito, being the ethical, community-minded legends they are, made the right but tough decision to close their doors for safety.
A brave decision. A responsible decision.
A decision that sent Rhys into a full-blown food crisis.
Because there was no backup plan. No “let’s try something similar.” If you think an autistic kid is going to accept a knockoff version of their beloved food, I would like to sell you a bridge.
In a moment of desperation, I reached out to Shayne, the owner of Neato Burrito. I explained our situation, expecting a polite “So sorry! Hope to see you when we reopen!”
Instead, Shayne did something I will never forget.
He sent me the chili recipe.
Just… gave it to me. No hesitation. No “secret family recipe” nonsense. Just pure, unfiltered human kindness.
I grew up in a restaurant family. I know secret recipes are guarded like national security codes. My great-grandmother took her gingerbread recipe to the grave, and I fully expect her to haunt me if I ever crack the code.
So this? This was huge.
Shayne didn’t ask for anything in return. He just wanted to make sure that one little autistic kid—who had already lost his routines, his resources, his world overnight—didn’t also have to lose his favorite food.
And for that, I will be eternally grateful.
(Also, I vowed never to use the recipe again once Neato Burrito reopened. And I’ve kept that promise. But I still guard that recipe like a dragon hoarding gold. It’s in a fireproof safe. Buried underground. Possibly surrounded by lasers.)
So, if you ever find yourself near a Neato Burrito, go support them. They make incredible food, they give back, and they once saved a small child (and, let’s be honest, his very tired mother) during a global crisis.
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2. When a Teen Employee at Jubilee Cake Studio Shut Down a Rude Customer Like a Boss
I was sitting at Jubilee Cake Studio’s Mini Mansions, sipping coffee, getting some work done, and enjoying the fact that Rhys was happy, engaged, and stimming away—loudly but joyfully.
And then it happened.
A parent, watching Rhys happily squealing and rearranging toy food on a little play table, turned to an employee and said:
"Well, that’s awkward.”
Now, listen.
Most of the time, people are great. But every now and then, you run into That Person™—the one who thinks their snide little comment is hilarious, as if they’re auditioning for Mean Girls: The Suburban Parent Edition.
I was too shocked to respond. But Oakley, the teenage employee behind the counter?
She didn’t miss a beat.
With all the confidence of someone far beyond her years, Oakley shot back with something to the effect of:
"Well, he’s a kid playing, so no, it’s not awkward. If you don’t like it, the door is over there."
Oakley shut it down. Immediately.
And let me tell you—when I say this moment stuck with me, I mean that parent’s words are burned into my brain… but so are Oakley’s.
Because that’s what allyship looks like. It’s standing up for inclusion, for joy, for kids being kids.
And Jubilee Cake Studio? It’s more than just a fantastic place to decorate cakes. It’s a place where neurodivergent kids are welcome. It’s a place where employees don’t just tolerate difference—they embrace it.
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3. When Refreshing Mountain Helped Rhys Learn to Fly
If you know Rhys, you know how much he loves swinging. He could swing for hours, soaring back and forth with this look of pure, unfiltered joy—the kind of joy that makes you believe in magic again. It’s his happy place, his reset button, the closest he’s ever felt to flying.
And I always wondered… what if he really could?
When we attended a homeschool adventure at Refreshing Mountain, where ziplining was an option, I had one of those mom ideas—you know, the ones that either turn into the best day ever or a complete disaster that ends in tears and emergency snacks.
I knew ziplining would be the experience of a lifetime for Rhys. The wind in his face, the weightlessness, the thrill—he was made for this.
But there was one big problem.
Ziplining requires clear, responsive communication—listening to safety instructions, following cues, knowing when to brake, when to go, when to stop. And Rhys, as brilliant and fearless as he is, doesn’t have the receptive language skills to do it alone.
I assumed this would be another one of those heartbreaking moments—where we get so close to something amazing, only to be reminded that the world isn’t always built for kids like him.
Another "We wish he could, but he just can't" moment.
But the staff at Refreshing Mountain? They had a different idea.
Instead of saying "I'm sorry, but it's just not safe," they said:
"Let’s figure it out."
And just like that, they made a way.
They didn’t see Rhys as a problem to solve. They saw a kid who deserved this adventure just as much as anyone else.
So, they took the time to harness him in tandem with one of their experienced guides—an absolute superhero in my book—who rode with him, ensuring his safety while letting him experience the full, exhilarating rush of soaring through the trees.
And as I stood there, watching him glide through the sky, his face lit up with uncontainable joy, I completely lost it.
I’m talking full-on, ugly crying. Like, that dramatic, hand-over-mouth, gasping-for-air kind of crying. The kind where people start glancing at you like “Is she okay? Do we need to call someone?”
I didn’t care. Because at that moment, my son was flying.
Because there are too many times when Rhys hears:
🚫 No, that’s not for you.
🚫 It’s too hard.
🚫 It’s too risky.
🚫 Maybe when you’re older.
🚫 Maybe never.
Too many times when he CAN’T.
But that day? That day, he could.
And in that moment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.
Hope that more people like this exist.
Hope that inclusion isn’t just a buzzword—it’s something you do.
Hope that, with the right people in his corner, there’s nothing Rhys can’t do.
Refreshing Mountain didn’t just let my son zipline—they gave him the gift of possibility.
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Celebrating True Acceptance
True inclusion isn’t just about policies. It’s about the little moments—
✅ The employee who speaks up instead of staying silent.
✅ The business owner who goes the extra mile when a family is struggling.
✅ The places that don’t just make space for neurodivergent kids but actually welcome them.
And that? That’s worth celebrating.
And just maybe… with more people like them in the world, my Rhys can do anything.
And now, as I sit here reliving it and jotting this down, I am in fact crying again. Because moments like this don’t fade. They stay with you forever.
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On May 3rd, 2025, Rhys will be walking in Neurodiverse Network's May Mile to support neurodivergent families, we’d love for you to consider a $5 donation here. https://givebutter.com/MayMile25/rhys GO TEAM RHYS!!!!
When visiting events and local businesses, be sure to tell them Macaroni KID sent you... and don't forget to tell all your friends!
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