When the kids were little, we tried doing studio pictures. After all, that’s what many in my generation have always done. You go to a JCPenney, find the hidden room behind the baby section, and pose with stuffed animals or a giant plastic first letter of your name. Snap. Click. Done.

Of course, when you have a child who’s just showing signs of autism, that makes for a more difficult process. My five-year-old daughter had been doing this flawlessly since the age of zero. She was good to go. My son, impossible to sit down and even tougher to prevent from darting off, was not.

To this day, the picture we took at the mall that year remains iconic. It was the one that I kept at my bedside when I recovered from my quintuple heart bypass surgery. It’s also one that holds a secret. Take a look:

The smile you see on my son’s face and the simmering frenetic energy springing from his body? That’s because less than a split second from the flash going off, he did too. Bang. Zoom. To the food court, we go.

Lucas dashed all over the mall and I chased after him like a Scooby Doo monster. Kinda makes that surprise bypass a little less of a surprise in hindsight, huh?

Memories like this caused my then-wife, Lucas’s mother, to reach out to an autism-friendly Photographer on social media. We were going to get the VIP treatment. Lucas would have nowhere to run if we were not in some giant public place.

Of course, it was never about running as much as sauntering off. Standing still, even for a moment, was harder than you would imagine. When he got the music in his soul and the spring in his step, nothing was stopping him from easing down the road.

The photographer was a young woman who was overwhelmed immediately. She asked Lucas to stand next to his sister and he did nothing of the kind. She then asked again, this time to the back of his head, and again he wandered away.

This process would repeat. Each time, I’d corral him as she’d ask again. Soon, it became apparent that her version of “autism-friendly” was to ask him to stand somewhere multiple times…and that was it. Anne Geddes over here was already out of tricks.

Out of my own frustration and not wanting to spend my entire Saturday having family time with a stranger, I started gathering the kids together and posing them in the way I knew worked best. I’d maneuver Lucas somewhere and then distract him for a second by making a silly face or singing one of his songs. He’d pause and smile next to his all-ready sister and I’d snap 100 quick shots of him.

That’s how it works with all our pictures to this day. Every photo that you see here on the blog or social media is one of many. All his pics are candid. It’s about snapping till you’re tapping.

When the photographer saw me doing this, she came running over. As I got the kids in perfect position, she’d swoop in and take a bunch of pictures on her own camera. Then, she sent us a CD with them…and charged us full price.

At the time, I remember thinking that I should have known this was coming. After all, I had taken Lucas to an “autism-friendly” hairdresser the year prior and that was a disaster in the hairiest sense of the word. To this day, I still think about that day with the same level of annoyance I had then.

Located in one of the bougie areas of Long Island, this little boutique-style cutter prided itself on being “autism-friendly”. Given Lucas’s emerging signs at the time, the subject was still a bit sensitive. It would be good to have a caring cutter to help me through this difficult necessity.

Nothing about the lobby, which consisted of three chairs and a pile of Vogue magazines felt “autism-friendly”. The collection of little TV monitors at each seat, all loudly blaring different shows, felt “autism-friendly”. The cranky receptionist with a sour expression to match her raspy voice wasn’t “autism-friendly”. Needless to say, Lucas wasn’t down with this.

From the start, he battled me every step of the way. From climbing into the fire engine seat to putting on his uncomfortable bib-apron to the first spray of water, he was wailing.

When the woman started up her buzzer, he lost it. I watched for a second to see what the stylist would do to remedy this. What “autism-friendly” methods did she have?

She looked confused, kept backing away, and finally looked at me as if she didn’t know what to do next. So the answer was nothing. She had nothing.

Frankly, neither did I. As I mentioned, this was new to me and still sensitive. So, I tried to hold him still and the two of us proceeded to finish his miserable buzzcut as he screamed to the high heavens. My heart was breaking for him and all I wanted to do was leave.

That’s when, with all the commotion and both of us wrapped around Lucas like a web, I looked up and saw the stylist make eye contact with the receptionist across the room. Buzzer in hand, she comically bulged out her eyes and let out an exaggerated silent sigh.

You’ll be glad to know that no one was punched that day. I was numb and done from that moment on and I knew that it was the final straw. After that horrible experience, Lucas never went back to another barber again.

Instead, much like the pictures, I do it myself. I went through hell the first year or so but, since then, he’s been great. He trusts me and knows I won’t hurt him. I’ll never mock his anguish with an over-the-top reaction. Rather, I’m on his team.

Does that mean that he can’t go into the world and get a professional haircut or sit for a studio picture? No. In fact, after all these years of doing these things for me, I know it has taught him to do it for the world. Would he love it? No. Would it be the cause of a meltdown if he had to? I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be.

That said, we don’t need to. I’ll happily take all his photographs and style all his hairdos as long as he wants. The day may come that I can’t do them anymore and, when it does, he’ll be ready to allow someone else to do those things. Until then, even if it causes him a tiny bit less anxiety to know I’m able to do them, it’s worth it.