He sees his name on the envelope. I can’t think of any teacher in their right might who would have written to me, their pupil at the same age. Times have changed.
I open it for him because it is made of paper and his fingers do not function well with such materials. [translation = paper, such as the wrapping on wax crayons, and on many other everyday paper examples, are aversive due to how they feel, which means that he avoids touching them] Even though this is technically a missed 'therapy' opportunity, I'm more anxious that he makes the human connection, the social interaction, which is especially tricky since the 'human' isn't present.
It's only us, him and me, not the writer of the note. It is from his former Pre-K teacher. 6 cursive lines of thanks. He reads it smoothly, his pupils trundle over the font until the end, where the 'Ms.' makes him stumble, until he recognizes the name that follows. His face is a picture of wonderment and delight, just as it should be.