I have two babies. They are adorable and so tiny. Just yesterday, they were transitioning to solid foods. Actually, that was a bit longer ago. It wasn’t actually yesterday.

Actually yesterday, my youngest baby graduated from elementary school. So, yeah. My math might be a little off.

It knocks you for a loop as you get older. The old photographs feel like magic tricks. The adults stay (mostly) the same while the kids grow up like beanstalks. A picture of me and my son from 2017 seems like me in an alternate universe.

The transition is often more difficult to see with my son than with my daughter. Lucas is non-verbal with a pronounced form of autism, for lack of any term that doesn’t feel wrong. With many life skills still requiring assistance, his adorable demeanor can sometimes cloud his chronological age. It’s not about birthday candles. It’s about the person he is.

This graduation ceremony was inclusive and not just limited to the special needs kids. I listened as the principal waxed philosophic about oh, the places most of the children would go. He spoke highly of the student body as a whole.

Children beamed as he lumped praise upon them for the work they had done in the community. These future leaders and hard-nosed academics have the world before them. All the classic hopes that students have for the future were had by these students.

Then, there’s Lucas.

Sitting there on stage with his communication device slung around his body, he munched on Pirate Booty and calmly took in the ambiance around him. Unlike his catastrophic preschool graduation, Lucas knocked this one out of the park. He was calm and he was sweet. He was the way he always is nowadays.

But let’s be honest here. Lucas doesn’t do community work. My boy’s goals don’t match the ones that the Dr. Seuss books imply they should be and, at least in our current state of affairs, my son isn’t angling to be the captain of industry.

As the event host detailed all these lofty aspirations that the graduates should have, I wondered what my son brought to the table. Realistically, what is his gift to society?

If you’re imagining this scenario in your head right now, it sounds sad. The poor dad of the poor kid trying to figure out what good he can do on Earth. You might be thinking that I started crying or banging my head into the chair in front of me.

I didn’t. Know why? I didn’t have enough time. I didn’t need to think that long.

This wasn’t an all-afternoon pondering. This was an immediate epiphany. My son is the most delightful and pleasant person you will ever meet. I am not exaggerating either. He is on another level when it comes to the way people interact with him. To know Lucas, even a little bit, is to love him.

People don’t love me the way they love Lucas. They don’t love you the same way either. I watch as other kids in his school wave hello to him when we walk by and hear the teachers who work with him happily recounting stories of his greatest moments. Friends I haven’t seen in a while always ask about him first upon reconnecting. There’s no one like Lucas. Know him for a minute and you’ll know it forever.

Is he going to release fresh music or invent a solar-powered whatever after high school? Most likely not. But that’s fine. His gift is one that we all wish we could have. It’s something that every parent wants for their kid.

My boy brightens people’s days. He puts smiles on faces and leaves a lasting impression. People remember him and, despite anything negative that they might already think about autism, realize that his personality is beautiful because of it. He’s the brightest and most unique star in my sky.

As I was smiling and thinking during this ceremony, the time came for him to receive his certificate. When their names were called, every child would stand up, walk past the podium, and shake the principal’s hand.

Lucas, as he often does, was marching to his own drummer. He stood up slowly and, once they came over to coax him to the front of the stage, he did just that. However, he didn’t stop at the principal. He stopped next to the principal and stared directly into the audience. Stoically, he stood there, taking in the room before him.

And the crowd cheered.

It was so perfectly Lucas and spoke volumes for the person he is. My boy might not be going to the same schools as many of the other children. He might not be on track to do all the fancy things they will.

He is, however, the kindest, most loving, and most unforgettable person you will ever want to meet. Any parent can agree, that means more than anything else.