Recently, I wrote about patience in special needs parenting. The gist was that my non-verbal son, often unable to voice his confusion or unhappiness, will make it through a function without incident. He might not be perfect every time, but whatever the percentage, it’s still a big accomplishment that we, as parents, tend to overlook.

I also acknowledged that, as his parent, I need to be patient too. When you have a child like mine, you need to factor in that things may take longer to explain or might not be understood at all.

This past week was a doubleheader in terms of that life lesson. My little guy submerged his iPad in a swimming pool and tipped his television onto the floor. In both cases, he sent these beloved items to technology heaven. Boom boom. Like an Amishman with a grudge, this kid.

Also, in both instances, he didn’t seem to register what had happened. When that happens, it makes having patience as a parent a bit easier.

Years ago, I would have been more animated over this disaster. Now, it’s like I’m comfortably numb. I approach the whole situation from a new angle because he gives me no choice.

All day, I kept warning him not to go into the swimming pool with his iPad. Like a joke, I’d look up as he neared closer and say, “No, no, no.” He’d stop, look at me, and then step away. He was doing great.

While I made sure to stay on top of things, I knew this had happened before. He’s ruined iPads in that same pool. He knows by now, right? Right?

Wrong. Ten seconds I looked away, only to be left with a sopping-wet tablet hanging from my hands. It was his favorite one. You’d think its destruction would destroy my boy. He loves this thing.

Nope. At least in the moment, he was completely unfazed. Here I am, holding this waterlogged brick of a screen in my hand, and there he is, the boy who did it…laughing and clapping.

He’s not laughing or clapping because he’s happy he broke it. In fact, that hasn’t even clicked with him, no matter how hard I try to get the point across. I do a million renditions of the hand-waving, clap hands, gesture-based explanation while saying, “Lucas! Broken. You broke the iPad. All gone. Done. It’s done.”

Still, he’s oblivious. His applause and chuckles have nothing to do with the iPad. This is just who he is. He’s the happiest little bull in the china shop. Yee-haw.

So, how can you not be patient in that moment? Am I going to yell at him? To what end? He’s the person most hurt by this broken toy, and he doesn’t even seem to comprehend it. How can I get mad at him?

Sure, I go out of my way to demonstrate that “no, no, no”, we don’t put it in the water. I can show the black screen and wipe my hands to show it’s done, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get it. Until he does, it’s on me to watch him at the pool.

The same thing happened when I came into his room to see that he had knocked over his rather heavy television during one of his early morning dance parties. Despite being crudely tied to the TV stand, this television is routinely on the ground. Every time I say the same thing.

Buddy, you’re going to off yourself with this TV one day.

Well, good news. He won’t. The television died first. Lucas wins. Fatality.

As I’m staring at this shattered screen and trying to pick it up from the floor, he’s hopping around me in hysterical happiness because I’m in his room. I ask you, how can you possibly be mad at a kid who is deliriously joyous at your presence and trying to kiss you on the cheek incessantly?

So, yeah. We’re down to the last “spare TV” from the closet. We had backups for this very situation. The same thing can be said for tablets. We preplan for the falling sky.

This is one of the most unique things about autism parenting. It’s what makes that initial transition into raising a boy like mine tough for so many people. There’s a basic order of operations that’s altered with Lucas and other kids like him.

We’re used to reprimanding and getting results. A firm “no” or a grounding is usually the route to knock a kid back on track. Even if they don’t learn from it, as a parent, it feels like the right thing to do.

In this case, he’s not being “bad”. This isn’t naughtiness, and in most cases, he ends up with the shortest stick at the end of the day. It’s his television that’s shattered and his favorite tablet that’s sleeping with the fishes. He’s the one who pays for these mistakes long-term.

Anger isn’t the right emotion in this circumstance and, as the years have gone by, it’s been replaced by sympathy. I want him to understand everything. The things he doesn’t, I need to be aware of and ready to help him avoid.

I need to protect him from others and from himself. I’m his dad. That’s what I do. Maybe one day, he’ll get it. Maybe he won’t. Either way, I’m here for him. It’s not about patience. It’s about understanding.