Autism adventures training CIC

Last Saturday, my nine-year-old son handed over $146 he’d raised for our neighbor’s medical bills. A few minutes later, an organizer asked him to move out of the photograph. It had started with a folding table on our lawn. Our neighbor was having treatment and couldn’t work. My son asked whether selling lemonade would help. I bought the ingredients. He made the sign. For six weekends, he carried cups outside, counted change, and waved at passing cars. Some people bought a drink. Others put money in his plastic tub and told him to keep it. One rainy afternoon, I suggested packing up. He asked to wait another ten minutes because someone had promised to come back. When the neighborhood committee heard about it, they offered to combine his money with donations from local businesses and arrange a presentation. He counted everything twice before we went. At the hall, a woman emptied his tub and added the money to the collection. Then everyone gathered for a photograph with our neighbor. My son stepped forward. The organizer touched his shoulder and guided him sideways. “Just the main sponsors for this one, sweetheart.” He moved a little. She asked him to move farther. Two men stepped into the space he’d left. He looked toward me, holding the empty tub against his stomach. I was already walking over when he caught my sleeve. “Dad, did she get the money?”