Five years after he and his mother opened a gift shop in Southold’s Feather Hill Village shopping plaza, Sean DeMarco now walks home at night to something his family once could barely imagine for him: his own apartment.
Most evenings are simple. He cracks open a can of soda, flips on some wrestling or an action movie, scrolls YouTube or maybe colors or listens to music. It’s an ordinary routine for a 27-year-old man living on his own, and for Sean, who lives with autism, that sense of the ordinary is the aim. It’s living proof of how far he and his parents have come since the fall of 2020, when the DeMarco family’s One for All Gifts opened its doors to a future that felt thoroughly uncertain.
From the beginning, Sean and his mother, Theresa DeMarco, set out to build a real, working gift shop to showcase and sell art, crafts and gift items created by neurodiverse artists and makers living with conditions like autism and Down syndrome. In those early days, mother and son would sit at the kitchen table running Google searches for “autism-run business” or “Down-syndrome-run business,” she said, and cold-calling anyone they could find.
“I think we probably called — that first year — 30 or 40 businesses, and 12 of them agreed to wholesale to us,” she said. Today, more than 70 small businesses from around the country are represented on the shelves, and the shop’s social media accounts and e-commerce site now draw artists and organizations to them.
“One of the greatest bits of advice we got in the beginning was to ‘make sure that you are a gift shop in your community first, and that the stories about your creators are second,’” Theresa said. “Simply because, this is not a charity shop. This is businessmen and women trying to create a business, entrepreneurs who are trying to create lives for themselves.”
At the heart of the gift shop is Sean, a cheerful, enthusiastic young man with poise and the practiced confidence of a good salesman. Looking back over five years, he said the biggest change has been realizing he is not alone.
“I believe I’ve learned how many people that are also like me are around here and all over. That was life-changing,” he said. “Because I had this feeling that I wasn’t alone, like there were other people that needed help, and they also had businesses and jobs, and it just warmed my heart to see other people like myself having their own stores and businesses and us reaching out to them and selling their products. It’s just, like, very special to me and to my mom.”
Sean said that working in the shop together has forged “a bond for life” between mother and son. “It’s been an adventure,” he said, grinning across a table at his co-founder. “It’s been a ride.”
‘This is amazing!’
The idea grew out of Sean’s lifelong love of movies and movie posters. As a kid with a stutter, he memorized lines and soundtracks and dropped them into conversations when words of his own would not come. Theresa noticed that when he was singing a movie song, he didn’t stutter. Working a favorite movie line into a conversation became a bridge into social situations where, previously, he’d just freeze up.
When Sean graduated high school, Theresa began looking for another way to build “a life for him and not just a job” from the things her son loved. They framed movie posters and hauled them to a local street fair. Sean was skeptical, got bored quickly and was ready to pack it in. Then a stranger walked over and bought three framed “Star Wars” posters before the booth was even set up.
“He gave me 100 bucks for it,” Sean recalled. “And I’m like, ‘This is amazing!’ I was overjoyed … that people were interested in what I was offering. I wasn’t expecting that at all.”
By Halloween of 2020, the DeMarcos had signed a lease and opened One for All Gifts, starting with a dozen small vendors and Sean’s framed posters. In time, the posters gave way to shelves of candles, granola, cards, jewelry and, upstairs this year, Sean’s growing Toy Loft of vintage action figures and collectibles.
When artists and makers drop in, Sean said, some are verbal and chatty while others are so shy they can hardly look him in the eyes.
“I was like that so I understand why they’re like that, and why they’re acting that way.”
Theresa watched her son’s capacity for empathy develop in real time.
“I think it makes Sean such a great ambassador, because the artists that are coming here — if they have their own neurodiverse challenges — Sean is very honest. It’s such a welcome, safe place to come and be as you are.”
Sean chimed in: “Be yourself, it’s OK, it’s open space. You don’t have to be afraid. You can … just come on in and say hello.”
‘Out of the nest a bit’
Five years of helping run the shop built Sean’s confidence and embedded him in the daily life of Feather Hill Village and the surrounding area, right up the road from Town Hall. Michelangelo Southold, the post office, Dunkin’ Donuts, the library — everyone knows Sean. As it turned out, building that community was an essential step on his journey.
In January, Theresa was diagnosed with breast cancer.
“One thing I recognized was how much he depends on me,” she said, visibly moved. “I knew it to be a true thing, and I never wanted it to be a detriment to him. So I knew, coming out of [cancer treatment], that he had to get pushed out of the nest a little bit.”
In June, when an apartment opened up within walking distance of the gift shop, Theresa and her husband put the question to their son: Did he want to try living on his own, at least part-time?
“I’m like, ‘Yeah, sure, I guess,’” Sean said.
They started slowly: one night a week, then two, then four and five.
“It felt a little strange,” he said, “but then I’m like, ‘Yeah, I think I can handle this.’ And then, as the days go by, I got familiar with it.”
A self-direction program through the state Office for People With Developmental Disabilities and a support worker named Vin gave Theresa the confidence to step back. While she underwent treatment, Vin helped Sean plan his days, shop for groceries, travel on his own on public transportation and practice the routines of independent living.
“He steps in and he helps me out,” Sean said of Vin.
Skills he had nurtured and practiced at home served him well.
“I did laundry on my own. I cooked for myself. I got up on time,” he said. “Those instincts kicked in. And then I was more aware of ‘I can do this on my own … I’ve experimented that I can improve. I’ve done it so I do it again.’”
Now, most weekdays, Sean walks from his apartment to the shop and back. On Thursday nights, his dad Gerry shows up with takeout. They watch what Sean described as “movies that are not appropriate for moms” and play NHL hockey on the game console. On weekends, like many 20-somethings, Sean usually heads home to Mattituck to be with his parents — and when they’re in town, his brothers Nicholas and Christian.
Through it all, the bond between mother and son has remained fierce, even as Theresa works, gently, to give him more space.
“Our bond is, like, so strong at the hip,” Sean said. “There are times where she’s like, ‘I think you should stop hugging me’ … because I’m gonna be a full adult soon, and I act like a little kid around her.”
The pride in Sean’s voice when he talks about his maturation is unmistakable.
“Yes, there’s still some social stuff I’m still working on,” he said. “But I have evolved. Like, I can talk to you,” he told a reporter. “I can speak with you. The 19 [year-old] me would not even look at you … But for me — now — I can just be comfortable speaking with you, and it has been proven I’ve evolved.
“I have my own place now.”
I love everything about the story and I’m gonna come shop at your place today!!