My New Book Is Here
“Hi World, I’m Dad” is now available for pre-order! It’s all about fatherhood, autism, and everything in between. Also Available in Audiobook!
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It’s beautiful outside. I should really take Lucas out. We’ve been in all morning.

Staying indoors is easy with my son. His lack of complaining isn’t because he’s non-verbal with autism. Well, maybe it is, but not in the way you’re thinking. If he was unhappy with a situation, he would make it very clear.

He’s not. In fact, he’s more than cool with it. Sitting on the couch, with my Xbox controller in hand and airpods in my ears, I watch him hop around with delight over the YouTube videos he’s been watching for years. Every once in a while, he’ll come over, and either tap me, kiss me, or make me look into his eyes as he cheers with delight.

I’m being serious about that. It doesn’t matter if I’m deep in thought or watching a show. He will walk over, hunch down, and look at my face. When I do, he gives me the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. It tells me that – yes – he’s fine with being home.

Me? That’s a different story.

The truth is that, since Lucas was little, I’ve always come down on myself for all the things I should be doing. Through the years, those things have changed and evolved. However, I’m constantly thinking about what I need to do better for my boy.

Even in times like these, when he’s totally happy with the life we have, I want to do whatever I can to make it all just that much better.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that some of the things I’m beating myself up for not doing are things he wouldn’t like anyway. Sports leagues and outside events, while something we do when we can, usually become a chore for my little man. In turn, they become a chore for me. Soon, you don’t even know why you’re there.

It causes fights in couples and leads to vacations where one person asks the other, “Why are we even doing this? He doesn’t even like it.”

Of course, you do it because, even sporadically, you need to leave the house. You can’t constantly be out, just like you can’t constantly be home. It’s all about moderation.

Still, that nagging voice in my head tells me to get up and get out. I should be doing more for him. So much more.

I know where this comes from. The origin of this feeling started many years ago, when my giant son was still my tiny son. In the early days of delays, uncertainty, and whispered observations, I remember that steady stream of self-blame.

Lucas’s lack of speech was one of the hardest hurdles I ever faced. He was my baby and, as he crossed the age of language without uttering a word, I couldn’t help but feel like I should be doing more for him. So much more.

What people don’t understand is that, when you have a non-verbal child, there’s not a day that you’re just told. It’s not an ailment or a condition. It’s a missing skill. We didn’t come home from the doctor with an official proclamation. The way we learned that Lucas was non-verbal was that he simply didn’t talk.

This was an ongoing process. You watch and wait endlessly. Every day is another possibility. Every person you speak to has an opinion.

When he was two, people would tell me to “stick with it”.

Keep teaching him. He’ll get it. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.

A year later, I was still worried. Everything wasn’t “fine”, by the standards they set. He still wasn’t speaking. Now, they’d offer a magical spin on my agonizing worry.

One day, you’ll walk into his room and he’ll just say “Hi, Dad!” You’ll see. Don’t worry.

A year later, that hadn’t happened. Now I was more worried than ever. That’s when the talk pivots to stories about strangers.

My neighbor’s grandson didn’t talk until four. Some kids are late bloomers. Don’t worry.

After that, most people stopped offering help. Those who did often said insulting things. When I would get upset, I was told, “They just don’t know what to say.”

How about nothing? My son had no words, they had too many, and I was falling to pieces inside. Every year that went by was another indictment of my parenting. Every birthday was another twelve months that I had failed my son.

This is where I tell you that everything turned out perfectly. The things I thought I needed my son to do, I didn’t. The person he grew to be transcends language or development milestones. The person he is centers around his heart and soul. No one is like Lucas. I’m eternally grateful that he’s in my life and he’s the boy he is today.

You know who helped me get over those early years? Lucas. That’s because every year that went by, he was happy. He didn’t worry about talking or catching up to the Joneses. Lucas worried about when he was getting his iPad and quesadilla. Lucas focused on the important things to him.

It was his approach to the world that has helped me take a breath from all that worry. When it comes to taking him out and doing things, I still tend to chastise myself for not doing enough. When it comes to teaching him to be a well-rounded person, I know I am.

I know I am because he’s the happiest person I know. He can’t hide his emotions so I know it’s not a put-on. I know it’s real. I know it’s realer for him than anyone else I’ve ever met.

Still, on days like this, I feel that old tug from the voice that says I should be doing more. And sometimes, I listen. I push us both to stretch, to step outside, to try. But I’ve learned that pushing isn’t always progress, and rest isn’t always regret. Taking a breath isn’t giving up. It’s trusting that the life we’ve built, in all its quiet, couch-bound joy, is already enough.