We call it Reunion Wednesday. It’s the day that my kids return to me from spending the first half of the week at their mom’s house. I look forward to it when they’re gone and prepare the house for their arrival.

My daughter, at 15 years old, gets an earlier pick-up and her attitude is predictable. She gives me updates on her life while texting on her phone and gives me the grace that any kid her age would give. When she’s in a great mood, she says slightly more. When she’s in a bad mood, she says slightly less. It’s no big difference.

Lucas? Well, once again, he’s a different story.

I collect my non-verbal little man from his school bus and I never know what’s waiting for me when it screeches to a stop. Early on, it was constant horror.

The bus would pull up and the driver would open the door with the metallic creak we all know well. As soon as she would, I’d hear him wailing from the inside.

Lucas would be spread out in the seat, screaming with unhappiness. The matron, who is one of the most patient people of all time, would be struggling to put my boy’s shoes back on as my angry little guy would convulse with frustration.

Why? I don’t know. Remember, I hadn’t seen this kid in days. He wouldn’t even be aware that I was coming that day. I’m not fully sure Lucas understands the concept of days being different from one another. Even if he does, I highly doubt he understands which days he comes to me and which ones he doesn’t. All of that is a bit abstract for him.

The first time he would realize I was there was when the aide, with a fistful of laces, would tell him, through a thick Jamaican accent…

Why are you crying? Look! It’s Daddy! You love Daddy!

Like a cartoon character smelling a freshly baked pie, my son would sit up and peer his head over the seat to see me standing there. Back in those earlier days, his crying would ease up slightly, but he was still far from happy.

There are a million reasons this could happen. I experienced it long before getting him off the bus. Back in elementary school, his pick-up was done in person. Upon my arrival, he would physically lie down on the ground, daring anyone to come and get him. It was like a game of come-and-get-me. This freakin’ kid.

That was last year. This year, the special needs bus is our meeting place and, because my son is so animated in his response, I’ve come to know the other children on the bus. One boy waves to me when he sees me and it makes me smile every time. Another kid and I share a common reply to Lucas’s agitation.

Whenever my little guy flips out, this one kid sitting in the seat in front of him begins laughing and trying to reason with him.

Lucas! It’s just the bus! Come on. Ha ha ha. What are you doing? Come on!

To this, I back him up every time.

Yeah, come on. This kid gets it, Lucas. It’s just the bus!

Yeah!

My little ball of angry energy would then wobble down the aisle and descend the steps, angrily stomping along the way. Afternoons like this were far from fun and put a damper on my excitement for Reunion Wednesday.

The days that followed would become progressively better. By Friday each week, he was pretty good at getting off the bus. Still, he’d remove his shoes and have a bit of anger to be woken up or taken from his comfortable position. Transitions were always an issue and, as any special needs parent can attest to, it’s never simple to figure out why.

When all else fails, however, the iPad is always there to save the day. I always brought his favorite device for him to play with in the car as we drove back from the bus stop. But, considering this constantly chaotic situation, I started taking it to the door of the bus with me. While it helped him hurry up, it ultimately didn’t change his mood much.

In fact, as I made small talk with the driver, he would come barreling down the steps, reach over, and snatch it from me like a 1970s necklace thief in Time Square. We had more than a few faceoffs over that and my stern demand of “no grabbing” would only make him more upset, defeating the whole purpose of the iPad to begin with.

So, where’s this story going? What did I learn and how did I change this attitude? Well, like so many other things in our lives, it got better for one simple reason.

Don’t know. Lucas just got over it. I did nothing.

What? Yeah. Nothing. One day, I came to the door, and he hopped up, saw me, and came walking to me with a big smile on his face. That was it. Even the bus driver had to ask:

He’s so happy. What did you do?

Um, I have no idea, lady.

Just like my ignorance over why he whined to begin with, I have no idea why it just suddenly stopped. I chalk it up to the same way he stopped freaking out over haircuts. One day, he just figured, “What am I doing? There’s nothing to be upset about.”

And that’s Lucas. Much like everyone else, he has worries and frustrations too. It takes time and repetition to show him how certain situations aren’t as bad as he feared. It took weeks and months to realize that all the things he wants are waiting for him when he comes home. The comfort he has on the bus ride is great, but there are more great things around the corner.

Now, if I had fought him tooth-and-nail during these meltdowns at pick-up with yelling and punishments, it never would have gotten better. In fact, it would have made him dread coming home and prolonged the anger. As his dad, I needed to put any frustration I had aside to show him that life after the bus stop was loving, fun, and fantastic.

I’m proud to know that he sees that. My son knows that the future isn’t so awful. I taught him the important lesson that not knowing what’s next doesn’t have to be scary once you see how wonderful the future can be.

And that’s the same lesson he taught me years ago.