Lucas and I picked up the old copy of Frog and Friends again this week. After close to a year, we grabbed it, sat down, and went through each page. It is one of our oldest and fondest books. We hadn’t missed a beat.

My son gets pretty cracked out on iPad around bedtime and will often just pass out in bed once it’s taken from him. Even without the iPad, a TV presentation of his usual YouTube playlist does the same.

He’s non-verbal and has autism, so I give him some leeway with the screen time. Most people would assume that he’s plugged in constantly due to his great love for it. While it’s not all the time, it’s a lot of the time. I love seeing him so happy, but I get worried about how he gets sucked into the screen like the kid in Poltergeist. Ripping him from the device for anything less than actual sleep can be tough.

Frog & Friends, however, still does the trick. He’ll lay down any device for that.

We have been reading this book since Lucas was less than a year old. It’s a board book with a catchy rhyme scheme. The frogs are interactive and, in true OT fashion, my son can pinch the triggers and force out a grinding “ribbit” sound from the plastic little croakers. Through the last decade, we’ve added in parts for tickling, blowing on his face, and loud screeching “ribbits”. It’s a joy to do and a joy watching him react.

This bedtime ritual is something we’ve done for years. Deep down inside, I know there’s a strong probability that he and I will be doing it long into his adulthood.

If you don’t have a child like mine, that sentence might create a visceral reaction. A part of you wants to think it’s sad. Your brain jumps to the missed opportunities that you might envision for my boy or the work that you, as his imagined parents, would have to do for him in life. There’s a lot to unpack there. I get it.

Me? I just think about how great it is that I get to read this book with him for as long as I can imagine.

To me, Lucas isn’t about missed opportunities any more than my daughter’s lack of wings makes her a failed seagull. You can’t have missed opportunities if they’re not part of a person’s core being. I don’t lament that my son won’t be the world’s greatest singer. Same, kid. There are other things he can do. There are other things we all can do.

The work? Yeah. There’s work. There’s work with all kids. On a long enough timeline, we all have our balance. He might not be at the traditional senior prom, but I also won’t have to bail him out of jail after it either. Times are tough for all parents. Yin. Yang. You get it.

For me, this story isn’t about the negatives. This is a story about my gratitude. It’s not about Autism Awareness or Autism Acceptance. It’s about Autisn Appreciation.

My son loves me. He loved me yesterday, he loves me today, and, unless I do something incredibly wrong, he will love me tomorrow. Lucas is my constant.

I can’t stress the irony of that statement enough. At the time of his diagnosis, Lucas was the biggest unknown in my life. No one could tell me who he would be or what he could do. I was filled with fear and Google searches that led me down rabbit holes of panic. Who will this boy become?

Lucas is the same boy he was a few years ago, from his books to his videos to his favorite songs. His understanding might change. His skill level might change. The ways he interacts with the world might change. But who he is, at his core, never has. Everything’s age appropriate.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, though, it’s that people will change. They change drastically and sometimes without reason. My son doesn’t. Who you know now is who he is. He’s my guy.

Lucas won’t arbitrarily stop loving you or resent you for things in life. He recognizes the love that he’s shown and gives it back to those who deserve it. What you put in is what you get out. There are no surprises and no selfish intentions. Simply love him and he loves your back. That’s Lucas. That’s beautiful.

He hugs me because he wants a hug. He doesn’t force hug upon hug on me, only to turn around a week later and say that I was the one who wanted the hugs the whole time. He’s real. He’s legit. He has all the best qualities a person could have. He’s all the best qualities that so many others out there might be missing.

Would it be great if my son could grow up to be one of these tan Long Island schooner dads inviting me on his boat for a summer picnic? Sure, I guess. But I already know people who can do that. Would it be great if he could meet me for lunch and talk about his day over a drink? Absolutely. Again, though, I know people I can do that with too. There are plenty of people who bring those kinds of relationships to the table. That particular table’s overflowing.

What my son brings to the table is unlike anything anyone else can. We have a bond that can’t be duplicated. He’s my constant. He’s my rock. We’ll happily be reading Frog & Friends for a long time and I’m forever grateful for it.