People without special needs children would be amazed at how often we need to track the things they can’t do. There’s no sugarcoating or putting your best feet forward in times of evaluation. When it comes to getting services, it’s all about deficits.

That can be a painful process. At an age when most children have parents bragging about them, my non-verbal son had the opposite during his school meetings.

When my neurotypical daughter was his age, I was doing the same thing as everyone else. If she could understand the difference between five cookies and seven, I’d tell the world she was on her way to doing calculus.

With Lucas, it was a different story. I realized this the first time we were preparing him for entry into kindergarten. To play the proud papa role, I told the administrator that he would say the word “hi.” The truth was, he didn’t. Today, at just short of 13 years old, he still hasn’t said a word.

Our coordinator put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Listen. I know what you’re doing. It’s OK. Parents do that. We tell people good things about our kids. This isn’t the place for that, though. This is to get him services. We have to be completely upfront.”

It crushed me to hear, but I needed to. For those looking to give their kids the best opportunities, acknowledging areas where they need assistance is the goal. That’s not easy to do, but it’s vital.

My son’s life has dealt with that a lot. The school will send home questionnaires or ask about his progress, and, in each case, I need to be straight with them. No matter how much I want everyone to applaud the work we’ve done, it’s not about applause. It’s about helping.

These moments of unfiltered truth can create a false perception of my child – not to others, but to me. That perception is that Lucas’s capabilities are black and white. He either does things or he doesn’t. Once an item is checked, it is done and we move on.

I’m a victim of that thinking. My boy spent years unable to sit in the audience for anything. I’d spend ceremonies and performances with him outside, while everyone else got to party it up behind closed doors. For years, I hoped he would be able to make it through.

It took a while, but today, he can. For a boy who literally used to wrestle me for hours, just to make it through his sister’s school concerts, his behavior today is an incredible success.

This can be credited to exposure. Rather than keeping him home each time, I brought him out. We went to plays, musicals, and other events, even when I didn’t think he could last. Eventually, he did and was not only sitting through them, but even enjoying some of them. We made it.

So, check that off the list, right? He can attend everything every time now. It’s like learning a skill. Clap your hands together and wave them in front of you. That’s our non-verbal gesture way of saying “all done.”

Except no. Not all done. Put your hands away.

Lucas may be a person with autism, but he’s primarily a person. People don’t simply stop or start doing something 100%. There are factors, moments, and difficult days that can change who he is without warning.

I’m the same way. Can I sit through a dinner party with awful people? Sure. Are there some days that I can’t? Absolutely. It depends on my mood and how I’m feeling on that day. I might smile on a Monday and throw mashed potatoes at them on a Tuesday. If you knew some of those people, you’d do the same thing.

The same can be said for Lucas. Sure, the chances of him doing something go up once I know he’s capable of it, but it never guarantees perfection. Nothing is set in stone.

This might sound like logic to most, but some special needs parents need to hear this. Nothing can take the wind out of your parental sails quicker than watching your child suddenly not do something that you were convinced they could.

You tell everyone he can make it through a show or event, only to sit in horror as the meltdown starts to slowly mount. It’s like watching a stack of plates, that you both had carefully put together, come crashing down. You envision a regression that takes you back to the starting gate.

In reality, that’s just how life is. Lucas went from hating haircuts to being completely indifferent to them. Yet, there’s still one out of every ten that he gets fussy over. He’s a kid. It’s how kids are. Heck, it’s how adults are. It’s how I am.

Want to know what the answer is? Compassion and understanding. It’s the same way you’d treat a neurotypical child. You don’t overreach expectations or put them in an unfair position.

Yesterday was the perfect example of this. We went to my daughter’s school musical, and Lucas was by my side. The expectation was that he would sit through the whole thing with a smile.

That ended up being partially true. We made it through most of the show before he got tired and restless. The moment the shouts began creeping in, I knew we needed to leave the auditorium. So that’s what we did.

And that’s how we handled it. I didn’t let his less-than-completely-perfect behavior overshadow his efforts. I didn’t force him past his comfort zone or fault him for not being a different kid. I accepted what he was able to do and appreciated his effort enough to take him outside before it became too much.

We have a long road ahead of us. My boy’s life will be full of challenges. He needs someone there to help him every step of the way. He doesn’t need someone who will demand flawlessness and become disenchanted with him when he can’t deliver.

After all, he doesn’t do that with me. No one’s perfect, me included. The least I can do is give him the same respect and love he gives me during those moments. That’s what families do.