I grew up on professional wrestling and action figures. Whether He-Man or Hot Wheels, I did all the stereotypical stuff that stereotypical boys did back in the 1980s. One day, I imagined sharing these things with my children and how beautiful those memories would be.

Sharing those things with my daughter mainly happened in her youngest years. Kids search for the things they like and my girly girl was still years away from settling on her own tastes. She appeased me with a trip to WWE and played action figures when she was small. I remember those days. They seem like a hundred years ago.

Wash away your Gi Joe tears, though. Today she and I have other shared interests. We watch Big Brother and Cobra Kai. Earlier this year, I took her to see Wicked on Broadway. We made a day of it and created new memories. She loved it.

We brought Lucas home a Wicked t-shirt. Her brother is non-verbal with autism. Going to shows like this really isn’t in the cards for him and, even if he did, he would be less into it than we would be. My boy has put up with many a school concert or presentation for our sake. Even on his best behavior, I feel bad dragging him around to things he has to be shushed during.

He wears the shirt, though. The day he put it on, his sister and I both smiled. It felt good to share this with him in a way that shows he’s remembered, even if he couldn’t be there.

Lucas and I never went to a wrestling event. While shows today are more autism-friendly, Lucas’s autism doesn’t necessarily present in a sensory way that requires quiet rooms and fidget toys. Rather, he wouldn’t even pay much attention to the show. It would just be a night of him sitting in his chair to make his dad happy. Events like this should be fun for my son. They shouldn’t be a favor for his father.

While I can’t control his entertainment choices, I can control his wardrobe choices. My son is a snazzy dresser and has been clad in some of wrestling’s most obscure T-shirts. From the G1 Japanese Wrestling Tournament to a classic purple Macho Man, Lucas shows the world how he supports the things that his family loves. We show him that we value his place with us by including him in our souvenirs and gifts. It doesn’t matter if he’s aware of what it represents. We are aware. We love him and want him to be a part of the things we enjoy.

It doesn’t end with wrestling. I send this kid to school in Dunder Mifflin sweatshirts, Misfits Tees, and Bob’s Burger’s shirts. From bands he doesn’t listen to, all the way to shows he doesn’t watch. He’s still a part of our lives.

If I’m being honest, this approach to his role in our pastimes has become the norm in our home. However, it wasn’t something that was simple to accept. Coming to the realization that I probably wouldn’t be taking my only son to Yankees games or WrestleMania was pretty heart-wrenching at the time. Any parent in my position would pause when reaching this stage of acceptance during their child’s early days of diagnosis.

There’s no shame in worrying or being upset over this. It’s natural. Babies are nothing but pure potential. All you see are the things you can and will do with them. You make plans and, in your imagination, ascribe personalities to their future selves. You envision adults who don’t yet exist having relationships with you that haven’t yet happened. There’s a lot of imagination that goes into parenting a toddler. You know nothing about your child’s future, so every new challenge represents another alternative to the future you’re imagining.

Today, my son is 12. His future is still before him, but I’ve had years of previously worried-about future to live through and compare the reality to. The fears that I had when he was two are all from the time period I’m presently in. Guess what? I’m fine. We’re fine. Things are perfect in my house, even when some of those “worst-case scenarios” from a decade ago seemingly came true.

Lucas and I definitely do have shared interests and shows we like watching. Those interests, however, are mostly his. He loves Raffi, so I do too. Flying Fairy School? Specific Sesame Street episodes? Certain Wiggles songs? All of these things make him smile and laugh. So I sit, smile, and laugh too. Sometimes, if I’m not in the room, he will find me and lead me there by the hand to come watch. That’s something I never saw coming. I even have a few Sesame Street shirts myself.

At the end of the day, it’s about how you see things and changing your perception. Love doesn’t have to be spoken. It can be a look or a reaction or a feeling in your stomach.

Everything I ever thought I knew about how people should interact went out the window thanks to my non-verbal son. Trying to see the world as he does makes you realize how beautiful the world can indeed be when you stop insisting on what beauty should look like.