When people hear my son has autism, their minds often conjure Hollywood-inspired stereotypes of the spectrum. They might imagine him meticulously lining up toys or bombarding us with incessant questions.

For Lucas, that isn’t the case. As a non-verbal 12-year-old, his interaction with the world is profoundly unique—something I’ve attempted to describe countless times. To know Lucas is to adore him. But for those unfamiliar with him, comprehending his autism can be challenging.

Some inquire if he’s “high-functioning.” He’s not. Since he was diagnosed at two, anyone meeting him recognizes his place on the spectrum. Does that make him “low-functioning”? I cringe at that term. It implies a level of incapability that doesn’t capture Lucas’s essence. It’s misleading to think he’s just a passive participant in life—that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

However, Lucas does need help. There are certain skills that children his age have mastered for nearly a decade that he still struggles with. He’s a person and, as a person, I give him privacy. I don’t talk about what specific skills those are or are not. I do, however, acknowledge that we are working every day to help him reach goals that a “high-functioning” person might have. More likely than not, he will need assistance for the rest of his life. It’s something I’ve accepted, even if it’s not something I can label.

So…severe? Does he have “severe autism”? That one conjures up a visceral reaction that I’m not comfortable with. It makes it sound like a bleeding head wound that everyone needs to panic over. Does it explain things a bit better? Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t like trying to figure it out either. These word games aren’t for me anyway. They’re for everyone else. I know my son already.

He’s not any of those things. Lucas is Lucas. He’s my boy and autism is one of the main parts of his life that gets mired down in semantics way too much. Even the debate between “autistic” or “with autism” brings out civil war battles among those who should really be on the same side.

Personally, I never say “autistic”. I just don’t. I say that my son “has autism”. Is Autistic offensive? No. Is “has autism” offensive? Also no. Then again, you’ll find vehement supporters of both phrases who will fight you on the street corner if you say the wrong one. For parents, it can feel like walking in a field of landmines.

Which is right? I don’t know. For me, I have always avoided saying Lucas is “autistic” because that makes it sound like he’s something other than a kid. Autism isn’t another type of species. It’s something that my son has. It’s an aspect of his personality. He’s a boy with autism, just like he’s a boy with an infectious smile. They all make up my little guy. He’s more than a charming smile. He’s more than autism.

All of these words and phrases serve the same purpose. They try to make us put an uncategorizable person into a category. Autism is one of the most individualized attributes anyone could have. The way it affects my son is different than how it might affect someone else. It’s all dependent upon the person, their personality, and the ways it presents itself in their life.

Even when placed alongside others who are “severe” or “low functioning”, Lucas doesn’t fit into a specialized group. There’s never been an instance where I’ve seen my son around other children and thought, “Oh. There you go. That’s a bunch of Lucases.”

Never. Every child I’ve ever met from his school has been their own individual. They may share similarities, but they’re not the same. Even those who check all the same boxes that the school psychologist sends home might be worlds apart when you meet them in person.

Is my son autistic? With autism? Low functioning? High functioning? Severe? Whatever. I’ll leave that for the world to debate. For me, he’s Lucas.

Asking his label is for those who haven’t met him. Once you do, you’ll never ask again. You’ll just know. He’s functioning just fine for the people who love him.