They say that there aren’t handbooks for raising children, but that’s a big lie. There are tons of handbooks for everything nowadays. Parenting has its share of experts putting out activity books for expectant fathers. You get what I mean, though. There’s no fool-proof plans on paper when it comes to kids. We’re left to our own devices and parenthood is an individualized journey. 

For many, the only true guide to parenting is the past examples passed down by the people who raised us. There are great parents across the world who simply emulate those who cared for them. There are others who came from a different background, who simply do the opposite of those who cared for them. The trick, either way, is to remember how you felt as a child and be the adult you wished you wish you had around – whether that adult was a real person or an imagined concept in your mind. 

I do that with my daughter, but that wasn’t really too difficult. My teenage girl is neurotypical and, since I am too, it has allowed me to really understand her stance on things as she goes through many of the same motions I did. I remember the easy embarrassments that came with high school, along with all the awkward interactions that entered my life as I grew up. Being able to telegraph and handle her incoming issues has gone fairly well, despite a few hiccups now and then. 

When it comes to my non-verbal son, it’s very different. 

Lucas’s struggles differ greatly from mine. I have never been unable to speak up for something I needed. If anything, I make it a point to be understood. My texts are long, detailed, and broken up into paragraphs. Explanations I give when telling my side of a story are itemized like a Lincoln-Douglas debate opening. My elementary school report cards always had “chatterbox” checked. 

My boy’s entire non-verbal approach to the world is based on a foundation that is the antithesis of mine. On the surface, a difference like this seems huge. But when you look below the surface…well, it’s still pretty huge. That doesn’t change. It’s the way in which we handle it that makes our constrasting outlooks look so easy to connect.

Any caregiver to a non-verbal child with autism can relate to some of the more frustrating stories I tell. While my writing steers towards a positive curve, there are challenging moments that pop up along the way. You can’t point out silverlinings without aknowedging the clouds. It’s how parents deal with those cloudy days that makes all the difference.

You won’t have a hard time finding social media posts about meltdowns. When your kid can’t say, “I want to go home,” the possibility of a full-blown screaming fit in the middle of Stop & Shop is always looming. The reasons fluctuate. He might want to eat. He might want a toy. He might want something that I simply don’t know. For every cry that I can wrap my head around, there are many that remain mysteries to this day. 

Moments like that can make even the most positive of us want to meltdown as well. His voice echoes throughout the building and all eyes are on us. There’s an unsettling feeling of failure watching your child dangerously flail as he melts to the floor. It’s a rush of panic and adrenaline that no parent is fully prepared for.

There was a time, when he was little, that I would worry about what others thought. I didn’t want him to be a show, incur their judgment, or deal with the negative thoughts they might have about my favorite little man in the world. 

At this point, I’m supposed to say, “to hell with those people.” You want me to. I can feel it and I totally understand why. While that sentiment is correct for those who glare from afar, it’s nothing I’ve had to worry about.

I’ve found that most people only judge if they think you’re handling something wrong. If I were to ignore him during these times, yank him around by the arm, or scream back louder, I would probably have to field comments and glares. 

That has never happened. In fact, I have people come up to me after these moments, quite often actually, to commend how I handle them. I can’t tell you how proud hearing that praise made me as a father. 

Do I always settle him? No. I often struggle and spend much more time on the floor than I probably should. The reason why so few will stare or criticize us isn’t because I fix thing, but because they see me handling the situation in a rational and calm way.

Those who still want to say something or gawk, well…to hell with those people (there it is).

During all of this, I maneuver him to stand on his own feet, while I rub his back and attempt to ease his mood through my own relaxed demeanor. I may not understand his reasons, but I understand his frustrations. The pain he must feel from being unable to convey his emotions isn’t something I have to experience firsthand in order to be a caring presence for him.  I don’t have to “get” why he’s upset in order to console him.

I have to be the calming presence in his life that I wish I had in mine growing up. As his parent, I need to remember the ways in which I am raising his sister and know that, while the specific circumstances might be different, the approach is the same. Patience and understanding trump any past parental examples or visceral reactions of frustration.

These are my children. Whether they’re going through a problem that I can relate to or not, it’s my job to show them that they have my love and support. Whether it’s a high school social issue, desperate cries for Pirate Booty, or a reason I can’t figure out, my approach should always be the same. Let them know I’m here for them and never make them feel they’re alone.  It doesn’t matter if they have the words to explain their problems or not.

The challenges my kids face don’t have to be the same ones I did in order for me to understand, just as I don’t need the best childhood examples in order to be the best example to my children. At the end of the day, I just need to be the best dad I can be. If I am, they’ll be the best kids they can be.  

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FROM AUTISM AWARENESS TO AUTISM ACCEPTANCE TO AUTISM APPRECIATION