Autism isn’t a word that is easily defined for all people at once. Similar to things like religion and the meaning of life, you should follow anyone who tells you they are trying to understand it, but be cautious of anyone who tells you they have figured it all out.

I speak from my experience with my son, Lucas, who is 12 years old and non-verbal. He’s a unique individual I know better than anyone on Earth, having spent countless hours with him since the day he was born. However, even after over a decade, he continues to surprise me with his unpredictable actions and reactions.

Case in point, a few weeks ago, I took Lucas to Best Buy. He’s pretty easy-going when it comes to going out and, for that, I am grateful. He proudly marches through the stores and, in cases of supermarket shopping, he will bring me over the food he wants to devour.

When we left, I figured we would head over to another store across the parking lot. As it was a large lot, I decided to do something he never did before. I let him sit in the front seat.

Big boy stuff, right? That’s what I told him. As I sat him in the passenger seat, I said, “Look at you. Big boy time, buddy. Front seat. Wow! Look. Look at this big window.”

I tapped the windshield and demonstrated the view with my arm as if I were a Price Is Right model. IPad to his ear, he sat quietly as we started the car and prepared for this exciting milestone.

Keep in mind, that this was his first time ever riding shotgun. As a kid, getting out of the backseat, even for a moment to go across the parking lot, was a huge thing. Big boy stuff, as I had said. For a boy who loves windows, this was a monumental moment on paper. I prepared for a reaction.

Yeah, he didn’t care at all.

Nada. Nothing. I watched him listen to his device as he went along for the ride. It was just another day in the jeep to him. Had you asked me before I did it, I would have bet anything that he would be excited…even just a little bit. He might as well have been at a Ted Talk on gardening.

If you don’t have a special needs child, you might hear that story and make assumptions about my little guy. He must not get excited over things or perhaps he is oblivious to the world around him. However, those who know him understand that while he finds immense joy in familiar things like his iPad, new experiences or unfamiliar situations may not spark the same enthusiasm.

Interestingly, on that very day, I gave Lucas a forgotten gift – a Leap Frog toy laptop I found at a flea market, identical to one he had before but in a different color. As I handed it to him while he was engrossed in his iPad, he reacted as if he’d discovered a treasure. He dropped his beloved device, flipped open the laptop excitedly and began pressing every button he had always pressed on the old one.

D! The dog says “woof!”…(click) D! The dog says...(click) D! The dog says “woof”! (slide, click) W! W is for wacky walrus….

It was a major moment of excitement for a $4 toy that he already owns. This, as I mentioned, was the same kid who couldn’t care less that he had been in the front seat of a car for the first time in his life.

And that is the theme of his life. Since Lucas was a baby, I have been anticipating his responses. Events like the first days of new schools, which send me into an anxious tizzy, are met with subdued apathy. I worry about him being alone or confused or sent somewhere new because I know how I would have handled those situations at his age.

For Lucas? Nah. He’s Kool and the Gang. If he had words, I imagine him saying, “What? It’s school. It’s fine. Same stuff. New building. Don’t be such a ninny.”

But there are times when I try to bring him into a bowling alley, only to have him drop to the ground and have to be coaxed up from a gravel-coated parking lot as cars speed past our heads. He cries. He screams. He loses it over, frankly, unknown reason. No one sees it coming.

Logical conclusion? He hates bowling alleys. There must be something on the outside that gives him an idea of what’s inside, right? That explains it.

Wrong. We go inside and he’s all smiles as he bowls away. The entire activity is spent with me, disheveled and shaken, repeating, “See, buddy? You’re happy. Come on. No more of that. What are you doing?”

Despite the unpredictability, I know Lucas trusts me. That’s why I continue to stress about situations like new schools, social gatherings, or schedule changes – I want to ensure he’s happy because I love him deeply. Even though it’s tough at times, I’ll gladly let him ride shotgun with me throughout the world and shoulder the burden of predicting the unpredictable for the rest of my life as his dad.