It’s 11:00 in the morning, and I’m at my computer while my 12-year-old non-verbal son, Lucas, is in his room with the gate closed.

Sounds terrible, right? What kind of father would put his kid in his room and close the gate so early in the day?

Not me. He’s not there because I put him there. In fact, I usually like to keep him around when writing as his smiling face brings me inspiration. Even with his yelps and screeches ringing through the air, it’s beneficial for my mood to have him hopping through the house.

No. He’s not in there because of me. I didn’t put him in there and I didn’t choose to close his gate. This was completely his call.

That gate may require some explanation to those who don’t know our home. Lucas has had a gate on his bedroom door since he was little. It has been essential for ensuring his safety at night.

The dangers throughout the home are abundant and they can present many problems for a special needs parent. Always on the lookout for something fun, Lucas will think nothing of waking up at 3am and wandering around the house. The options range from fairly safe things like finding his iPad or toys to destructive pursuits like tearing through a cake in the fridge to dangers like ovens and sharp objects. Any way you stack it, having a non-verbal child with autism requires a constant eye, even when your eyes are closed and sleeping.

In his younger years, I made removing the gate a goal. I wanted to get rid of it and show him that I trusted him to do what was right. After three weeks without sleep for both of us and a disaster scene every morning, the gate went back up and I recognized its necessity. This wasn’t about maturity. This was about impulse control.

He’s big enough to crawl over it, but thankfully, he hasn’t realized that yet. Lucas has never tried to hop over the one that’s currently on his door. Of course, this is a metal one that closes. Before this metal gate, a compression gate in his doorway was merely an obstacle for him. He’d stand back and come barreling through at all hours of the night. It was like living with the Kool-Aid Man.

There’s nothing like waking up to a crash and seeing your son sprawled over a collapsed gate in the hallway. Don’t even get me started on the times I found him wedged underneath in an attempt to escape Shawshank Redemption-style. I’d just shake my head, reach down, and save his life on those mornings.

A funny thing happened through the years, though. This gate, once something that I wanted to do away with, became a type of security for him. Lucas, as he’s become older, sees it like his older teenage sister sees closing her door. It’s his way of saying, “I’m in my room. Don’t bother me.”

I know this because I try to keep him around me as much as possible. Whether hanging out in the den, going to dinner with friends, or strolling through Target, I try to get my little man out and about as much as I can. I don’t like “making” him sit in his room, so I try to find alternatives.

There’s a reason I say, “making him”. It’s because, as a special needs parent, I’m hypersensitive and sometimes overly critical of myself for the times he is off by himself. I don’t want to shove him away or hide him from others. I don’t want him excluded because he’s loud or “in the way”. I don’t want to do that to him.

Yet, as he’s started to go through adolescence, that’s not really the case. Nowadays, he’ll go in there on his own. If he sees me at the doorway and the gate is open, he’ll have me close it for him with a hand gesture that he came up with.

It’s rather adorable actually. He’ll go into his room and sit on the bed. Then, he will raise his hand, stretch towards the gate, and do a quick open and close of his palm. It’s like a puppet talking. It’s his way of saying, “Close it.”

I do and he settles back into bed with his iPad in hand.

All my instincts that first time told me not to. As a parent, especially to a boy like mine, a voice in my head says to make him do things whenever possible. To put him in his bedroom and close the gate, especially at midday, feels like I’m shirking my parental responsibilities.

But a 12-year-old with autism is still a 12-year-old. Sometimes, my little man doesn’t always want to hang around with his dad or sister. Sometimes he just wants to be alone and do his own thing. I remember 12. I remember that feeling.

While new experiences and outings are important, I’ve learned that constantly being on the move isn’t always fair to him. Just because my son doesn’t have the words to complain doesn’t mean I should treat him as a baby forever. He may not be on the same track as every other kid on the cusp of teen years, but he’s still there in his own way. Just because I see him as my baby doesn’t mean it’s true.

That’s not an easy thing to realize because much of Lucas’s life has remained unchanged since he was tiny. Whether it’s missing life skills we are still working on or Sesame Street toys and videos that he had in his life since toddling, my son’s age can sometimes get lost in the shuffle. While certain aspects of his day mirror things he did when he was a baby, he’s going to have desires and wants that grow as well.

In the end, it’s about striking that delicate balance of respecting Lucas’s emerging need for independence while continuing to nurture and protect him. As he grows, I’m learning to listen not just to his non-verbal cues, but also to the evolving needs of his spirit. It’s a journey of understanding that each stage of his life will bring new challenges and new joys.

His closed gate is more than a safety measure. It’s a symbol of his growing autonomy and a reminder for me to respect his personal space, just as I would for any developing child. Embracing this understanding helps me to see beyond his autism and focus on the unique individual he is becoming.

It’s a constant learning process, one where love and patience are the guiding stars. As Lucas continues to grow and change, so will my approach to parenting him. My goal is to always find the best balance of freedom, safety, independence, and guidance. This is the heart of our journey together. It’s a path filled with learning, love, and the joy of watching my son become his own person, gate and all.