I’ve seen a lot in my life—games that made my heart pound and moments that felt huge—but nothing compared to the day Hadassah met Carson. It was the kind of moment that sticks with you, one that makes everything feel right in the world.
Hadassah had been going through a rough time. Kids at school can be cruel, and having a pro athlete dad—especially one like me—brought its own baggage. On top of that, she had three dads, and two of them were gay. It didn’t take much for the bullies to latch onto that. They’d throw around taunts like, “Your dads are weird,” or “What’s it like having two gay dads?” The worst was when they’d use my name like an insult: “Look, it’s Butker’s daughter.”
Watching her come home, trying to hide the pain behind a fierce look or clenched fists, was tough. But Hadassah was strong. I’d seen her stand her ground countless times, even if it meant a few punches thrown when the taunts got too personal.
Then Carson came into her life. He was 22, autistic like her, and obsessed with alligators. I mean obsessed. He knew everything there was to know about them and could go on for hours about them. But Carson’s autism came with its own challenges—he had a limited vocabulary. He could only say a few words: “alligator,” “hi,” and “missed you.” But somehow, that was more than enough.
Hadassah met Carson at a community art workshop for neurodivergent kids and adults. From the moment they crossed paths, it was like they had always known each other. Hadassah would bounce around, energy spilling over as her ADHD sent her from one thought to the next. Carson would just watch her, eyes bright, and whenever he spoke, it was with one of his few words.
“Alligator,” he’d say, and Hadassah’s eyes would light up like he’d told her the most exciting news in the world.
“Tell me everything!” she’d reply, and Carson would grin, nodding along as if he could. When they parted ways, Carson would wave and say, “Missed you,” as if he already couldn’t wait for the next time.
For Hadassah, having Carson say “hi” or “missed you” was like a lifeline. It didn’t matter that his words were few; the connection was there. And seeing her finally smile without a hint of pain—that was everything.
