Who Made You the Spoon Police?

The other night, we were sitting around the dinner table eating dinner like we normally do. Maggie, my 8-year-old, was eating her beans with her fingers. James, being the old-school kind of man that he is, told her she needed to use a spoon. And then Maggie said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Why can’t people just eat how they want or need to?”

Boom. An 8-year-old just said something that I honestly think could change the world. Think about it. Why can’t people just do things differently? Why do we automatically assume there is a right way and a wrong way to do something? Why does someone eating with their hands instead of a fork or spoon suddenly become something that needs to be corrected?

I eat differently. Sometimes I make a mess. Sometimes I can’t use silverware. Sometimes I literally faceplant into food that is supposed to be eaten with my hands. And you know what? That’s okay.

I have a disability. My body works differently. Some things that are easy and automatic for someone else can be incredibly difficult for me. Sometimes I have to figure out another way to do something, and sometimes that way isn’t going to look like the way society thinks it “should.”

And honestly, I am lucky to have a partner who somewhat gets that. If someone stares at me while I’m eating or makes a comment about how I eat, James gets offended. He gets defensive. He’ll say something. And sometimes I think about why that is.

Is it because I have a disability? Is it because people can see that I have a disability and therefore understand that I might need to do things differently?

But what about the people whose disabilities you can’t see?

What about the little girl with autism who needs to put her food in her mouth a certain way or must talk while chewing? What about the person with a neurological condition who struggles to use utensils? What about someone with a physical disability, sensory disability, developmental disability, or another condition that changes the way they eat, communicate, move, learn, or interact with the world?

And what about the people who don’t have a diagnosis at all?

Do we really need a diagnosis before society decides to give someone permission to be different?

That’s the part that bothers me.

We have somehow created a society where people feel like they have to explain themselves before they’re allowed to do something differently.

“I have autism.”

“I have cerebral palsy.”

“I have ADHD.”

“I have a medical condition.”

“I have a disability.”

As if those words are a permission slip. As if we need a legitimate reason before we can say, “This is what works for me.”

Maggie didn’t ask why people with disabilities eat differently. She didn’t ask what their diagnosis was. She didn’t ask whether they had a good enough reason.

She simply asked: “Why can’t people just eat how they want or need to?”

Exactly. Why the hell can’t we, people?

Maybe someone eats with their hands because that’s what works for them. Maybe someone needs to cut their food into tiny pieces. Maybe someone needs to eat things in a very specific order. Maybe someone needs a particular utensil. Maybe someone needs to stand up while eating. Maybe someone makes a mess. Maybe someone needs help. Maybe someone doesn’t need help at all, even though you think they do. Maybe someone simply does things differently.

And maybe we could stop staring. Maybe we could stop making comments. Maybe we could stop assuming. Maybe we could mind our damn own business. Because here’s the thing: different doesn’t automatically mean wrong.

We spend so much time teaching children to accept differences, yet somehow adults still struggle with the concept. We tell kids to be kind. We tell them not to judge people. We tell them everyone is different. Then they grow up and see someone eating differently, moving differently, communicating differently, or behaving differently, and suddenly they feel entitled to stare, question, correct, or criticize.

Maggie reminded me that night that sometimes children understand something adults make way too complicated.

People don’t have to do things the way you do them.

They don’t have to look like you. They don’t have to move like you. They don’t have to communicate like you. They don’t have to use the exact tone as you do to be respectful. They don’t have to eat like you. They don’t have to function like you. And they certainly shouldn’t have to hand you a diagnosis before you decide to treat them with dignity.

So maybe the next time you see someone doing something differently, instead of wondering what’s “wrong” with them, ask yourself a different question:

What if nothing is wrong with them at all?

What if they simply found a way that works for them?

Maggie was eating beans with her fingers.

And somehow, in the middle of an ordinary family dinner, my 8-year-old gave me a pretty extraordinary reminder:

Why can’t people just do things the way they want or need to?

Maybe the world would be a whole lot better if we finally started listening to kids like Maggie.