The whole reason I write about my non-verbal son is so others can better understand the great things about him. He’s the least squeaky wheel in the lot and, because of that, he doesn’t get to toot his own horn for everyone to hear. So I squeak, toot, and tell the world about my wonderful kid.

While the rest of the planet makes their voices ring from the rooftops, my little guy doesn’t use his voice for communication. We communicate in other ways and his life, although sprinkled with obstacles, is surrounded by love and happiness. A lot of that is due to autism and the beautiful way he sees the world. I repeat this fact often and I repeat it loudly. Those who don’t know him, don’t know this side of his personality. So, I tell them.

I tell them in my writing. Presenting the world with a typewritten letter explaining the Autism Appreciation we show in our home, I will post and read the comments as they come in. Overwhelmingly, they are positive.

There’s always one, though. It’s one that seeps into social media comments constantly and, the more attention the article, the more it shows up. Based on this today’s headline alone, I see many incoming.

I’m talking about the comments on platforms like Facebook promising readers a “cure” for the autism I’ve just written about. Whether it’s a crystal or a glass of milk or a time machine, these methods pedaled by random followers are always just a click away on an Instagram page. The help we all, as parents to children on the spectrum, need is waiting.

Let’s forget, for a second, that the world is full of nonsense. People promise everything every day. It costs nothing to say something. So that’s what these people do. Their goal is to find people they believe to be desperate for support, as many with newly diagnosed children with autism might be. From there, they lead you down a rabbit hole that ends with routing numbers and food programs.

Sound cynical? Maybe, but I have to be honest. If someone really came up with a sure-fire “cure” for whatever they think autism is, then wouldn’t that be the type of thing that would get some airplay? Commercials? Billboards? Marching bands? How is hijacking the comments of parenting blogs and pasting poorly formatted pitches full of typos the best form of advertising for these miracles?

Now that we’ve gotten that point out of the way, we need to really address the main issue. The main point is that even if Dr. Feelgood over here found a cure for autism, who cares? I didn’t ask him to cure my child’s autism.

In fact, I just wrote an entire post about why I value that part of his being. Bit by bit, point by point, I detailed something that many parents echo with their own children. My son has autism and it colors his entire personality in so many unique ways. How could that be “cured”? Moreso, why would I want to?

It’s as if I posted an entire article about how much I love spending time with my sister only to have one of the first comments say, “Want to cure having sisters ? To—day only go to Dr. Tommy Bahammy on Instagram nonw..”

There are many things that Lucas’s autism brings to the table, but one of the main things you can attribute to it is how enthralled he gets with his iPad and the play/pause repetition of certain shows. It is, easily, his favorite thing in the world. When he was younger, I didn’t get it. Even now, I don’t fully understand why it makes him so filled with joy. It is, however, who he is. To “cure” that would be to strip away one of the biggest parts of his personality.

It would be like “curing” a neurotypical kid of his love of baseball.

Not comparable? Why? Because my son’s jubilation is over something that isn’t “typical”? People see him getting overexcited with his device in public and think that I must wish for a way to stop that behavior.

But realize that while a verbal 12-year-old without autism could adopt that more traditional hobby, it plays out in its own way. Perhaps he constantly tells you stats about baseball and intricately talks about the techniques of his favorite players. His room has to be painted orange and blue for the Mets. He makes his parents pay for all the games and, every single weekend, you’re forced to go to Little League tournaments in other states. How tough is that for a parent? Keep in mind, you don’t even like baseball. You don’t know where he picked it from. This kid! His baseball! It’s constant. Baseball everywhere! Ugh!

Sounds tough. Want to “cure” him? Huh? Take away the thing your child loves because you don’t “get it” or it can be a lot of work? Go on. Make him a different person. Would you want that?

Neither would I.

I’m not here to tell others how to feel. I can only tell you how I feel. In our family’s world, autism plays a major role, but it isn’t as prevalent in our minds as people might think. It’s just another cog in our machine. It’s up there with my daughter’s love of theater and my whole pro wrestling thing. Lucas’s loves are part of our normal. We support him and all the things that make him happy.

He’s my boy and I’d never take that away from him. That’s not the dad I want to be.