Stranger Danger and My Special Needs Child

     First off, if anyone happened to be sent here in search of answers by the genie that lives in the interwebs, I'm afraid I have none.  I do have loads of concerns and questions, though, if you would like to have a worry buddy!  Now, back to me (as it always should be, right?)
     Today was Field Day at my children's school.  Children were everywhere, running amok on a tidal wave of sugar and sunshine and sweat.  Tiny little natural disasters, each and every one of them.  Excluding mine, of course, because they are sweet and perfect angel babies who can never do wrong.  (I wish I had a sarcasm font.)
     Anyhoozle, I was doing my best to keep my heathens precious children from injuring themselves or others (mainly the others.)  But, in the midst of all the sunscreen-scented calamity, I turned my back for one moment.  When I turned back around, I realized Skeletor (my five year old) was not standing next to me.  He was about 20 feet away, talking to a man sitting by himself on the playground equipment.  The man was wearing a shirt with a skeleton on it, and had several tattoos scary enough to garner Skeletor's attention.
     This was not an immediate panic situation, as we were sitting on the school playground surrounded by about a bajillion teachers.  I called Skeletor back over to me, and proceeded to warn him not to talk to strangers.  Problem solved, yes?  Um, no.  Not two minutes later, Skeletor was back talking to the creeper man again.  Again, I called him back over to me, and told him not to talk to strangers.  His response infuriated/horrified me.
     "But, Mommy, that man says he's not a stranger.  He's my best friend!"
     Now, I know that his man was there at the Field Day for a reason, and was *probably* not a kidnapping child molester.  But, really, guy?  Why in God's name would you tell a child whose mother is CLEARLY trying to teach him about the danger of talking to strangers that you're not a stranger?  Yes!  Yes, you are!  Does my child know you by name?  Are you friendsies?  Do you two share inside jokes and have a special handshake?  No, pretty sure you don't!  Blergh!
     This whole thing would have been irritating and scary if it had happened to one of my typical kids.  But, Skeletor is not typical.  He doesn't yet possess the language skills necessary to fully explain the dangers of talking to people that you don't know.  I'm torn.  I don't want to discourage him from interacting with other people, but at the same time, certain people are not to be interacted with!  I do the best that I can to tell him clearly what constitutes a stranger, but, let's be real.  In Skeletor's world, nearly every single person is a stranger.  Even children he sits in a classroom with all day long. 
     So, I guess I'm going to be doing some research to see what I can find to help me with this.  Maybe they make stranger danger videos for kids with special needs.  Maybe they don't, but I totally need to.  Maybe this is all gibberish, and I'm just a little touched in the head from all the sun I got today.  Who knows?  Not me!

Some needed levity for a serious topic...also brevity.  Ha, word jokes!

     P.S.  I would like to make myself clear.  Dude at the playground, if you had spoken to my child one more time today, you were probably going to get cut.  I never can tell what I'm going to do.  But, I've always got my pig-sticker close by.  You've been warned.

The Origins of Skeletor: My Child is Not Ted Bundy

     So, once upon a time, there was this girl who thought it would be a super amazeballs idea to join the army even though she was the mother of small kids.  I know, she's clearly deranged.  Anyways, her husband was also in the military and was quite supportive of the girl's aspirations.  Thusly, she went and kicked all kinds of ass at being in basic training and, pretty much, life in general.  When she got home from all her high speed medic training, she was almost immediately sent to New Jersey in the dead of winter to prepare for a tour in Iraq.  (Don't worry.  She didn't understand why she was mobilizing for the desert while in New Jersey, either.) 
     Cut to one year later.  The girl comes home from the desert.  She's kind of tan, a little skinnier, and there's sand in EVERYTHING.  She knows that things are going to be difficult with her children.  The army briefed her to death on it.  However, all those briefs didn't mean bupkiss until she was actually standing face to face with the blank, staring faces of her loving ambivalent kids.  Long story short, they quickly came around, and loved their mommy, and everything was peachy.  Except for the little one. 
     The little one, Skeletor, was just a wee, little baby when his mommy left.  He was about two and a half when she returned.  So, she attributed his complete lack of engagement with her to the fact that he just didn't remember who she was.  That's also what she blamed on his violent fits of rage.  She didn't think anything about his obsession with skeletons because, let's be real, skeletons and bones and such are awesome.  It wasn't until his daycare teacher pointed out he didn't know anyone in the class by name or ever play or talk to any of the other children, that the mommy admitted something was wrong.  They spent nearly two years bouncing around from one doctor to another until finally they found one who would listen.  Unfortunately, while he agreed with the probable diagnosis of autism, he also inadvertently aligned Skeletor with a serial killer.
     As Skeletor and his mother were leaving from their appointment with this child psychologist, the man warned our heroine that she must be very careful with her son around animals.  He said because Skeletor was so fascinated with bones, that it wouldn't be unusual for him to want to take them apart.  TAKE APART THE ANIMALS.  "Um, exsqueeze me?" said the girl.  "Isn't that how sociopaths start out?  Are you saying my son is a sociopath?  He's four!  Are you saying he's like Ted Bundy?  Is that what you're saying?  I mean I know he's handsome like Bundy, but that's where I draw the line in the comparison.  You're crazy!  And stupid!  You wanna fight?!"
     Luckily, that was the last time the girl and Skeletor ever saw that man.  They went to a doctor who was very understanding and did not liken Skeletor's obsessions to that of a serial killing monster's.  They are now just a few weeks away from their appointment at a Pediatric Developmental Disorder clinic.  Hopefully (and probably), nobody there will accuse Skeletor of such homicidal tendencies.  Or else, his mommy may have to cut somebody.