It wasn’t hearing “autism” that really was the issue. It was the uncertainty about what “autism” meant. My son, at the time, was tiny. He was still at an age where babies develop and suddenly “spring up”. How can someone tell me that he might possibly never speak when he’s still so young?

After all, I didn’t even know him yet. Babies come into the family like little pledges of your organization. You give them a name, show them the ropes, and watch as they become members. For the most part, you know what to expect. Walk, talk, and pay your taxes. Life rolls on.

Now imagine, right at that crucial point, a medical professional tells you that your child has autism. They don’t elaborate in any practical way and all the questions, specific to your child, are met with uncertainty. You get shrugs when you ask about your kid’s future milestones and things:

Anything can happen.

Yeah, but it’s not happening yet.

Yes.

Well, when will it happen?

Any time…or never.

That’s an actual quote. People will look you in your eyes and say, “He might never speak. Or he might speak tomorrow.” Can’t the same thing be said about growing wings? All I could think is, “We need insurance to pay for this kind of nonsense?”

Above all else, I wondered what autism would mean to our family. How would it affect us and our lives? Will this little man with autism be able to properly work his way into our family? Worse question – will he want to?

It’s been over a decade since that worry and my 12-year-old is a strong member of our tribe. The strong and very silent type, Lucas is non-verbal with all his talking being done through movements, his communication device, and intuition. Autism, in our home, has been seamlessly worked into our daily lives. It’s amazing how quickly something becomes ordinary when it’s part of your routine.

In hindsight, I want to say how silly I was. After all, we’re all great now. It would be easy to pretend like I never had a second of worry about my child’s autism diagnosis. Wouldn’t I look fabulous? Dad of the year over here with his unwavering support. I always knew it would be as wonderful as it is today.

Yeah. No. I didn’t. I was in fear of so many things that ended up never happening.

From lack of eye contact to robotic mannerisms, Hollywood painted a clear picture of what I should expect in terms of my son’s personality. Hollywood was wrong and, while some of those features are probably prominent in people with autism, I haven’t met many and my son isn’t one. I guess portraying something that’s individual from person to person is hard. Might as well make them socially awkward doctors who can count cards. People eat that stuff up in prime time.

My biggest fear transcended mannerisms and card counting. My biggest fear was that my son would never know who I am. In his earliest days, he was oblivious to the presence of others and it scared me to death. Walk into a room and he wouldn’t look up. Tell him to go to Daddy and he’d ignore you. My heart sank because I never knew if he’d ever be happy to see me or even understand how much he means to me. At that age, if you’re not seeing things your baby is doing, you’re seeing all the things they’re not.

Today, I know that he does get it. It wasn’t about words or the ability to communicate. Long before Lucas started to smile, come to me, or bring me into his world, I felt it. Through his glances and instinct, I could tell he could comprehend how I loved him. He knew who to turn to when he needed assistance. He trusts me with his needs. I got ya, little man.

He’s never had sensory overload from sounds or smells. He doesn’t need things lined up or in a particular order. Even the routine that so many with autism grasp onto isn’t a necessity for him. Sure, he likes to listen to the same two songs when we drive to school, but if we don’t, he lives with it.

There’s nothing cookie-cutter about my kid. He’s different than kids without autism. He’s different than kids with autism. He’s different than everyone. He’s unique and he’s perfect.

I guess what I’m saying is that the worry that I faced as the father of a newly diagnosed boy was centered around second-hand information about what autism would mean for him. I was guessing how it would affect my boy. Some of my biggest worries never materialized.

As the father to a nearly-teenage non-verbal child with autism, I can say with 100% certainty that no one can tell you who your child will become. No one knows. The best things that you’re imagining and the worst things you’re imagining both have the potential to come true.

Am I some sort of autism expert? No. I’m just a casual observer of all human beings and can say that you can’t predict who anyone will become. On the spectrum or off, people grow into who they are. Skills you never expect spring up out of nowhere. Plans you made for big achievements go unrealized. Life does what it does. Learning your child has autism is one of the times you truly have to give up control.

I gave up control and the result has been spectacular. No expectations. No predictions. No disappointments. I didn’t know what to expect and I ended up with the boy I was meant to have.