When people think about “taking care of” a non-verbal child, their minds drift to things like bedtime and meals. They recognize that we have daily obligations to work on together until Lucas hopefully learns to manage them himself.

The things that need to be done stretch beyond the easily noticed. When it comes to simple things like showers and clothing changes, most parents of special needs kids have that down. People start to see if your smelly kid is still wearing his Christmas sweater in February. You get outed, as they say.

Those obligations get much harder when you start to see the things that spring up without warning. Caring for a boy like my son takes time and patience, but it also takes observation.

Sometimes it isn’t until we prepare to cross the street that I notice the little claws lurking beyond his chewed-up sleeves. Gripping his hand to guide him to the curb, it feels like a miniature Freddie Krueger is gripping back.

Lucas, what the hell. We need to cut your nails.

He hears that a lot. It’s usually followed up by…

And we need to moisturize your hands too. Holy cow, buddy. You’re like sandpaper.

My kid’s hands dry out like freeze-dried fruit. It can be shocking and, when he was younger and we hadn’t noticed yet, they got pretty bad. There were cracks and breaks that eventually landed us a prescription for hand crème. Even with it, he still has the palms of a lumberjack.

No one noticed this for a while because, well, we weren’t staring too deep at his hands. Plus, even at their worst state, they were never so dry that he reacted with pain or sadness. My tough little fella just marched on with his cracking skin and went about his day. The squeakiest wheel gets the grease and my little guy never makes a peep.

Over time, I’ve come to think a lot of it has to do with his love of clapping. Lucas has been a big fan of slapping his hands together since he first learned how as a toddler. Over the past decade, he’s mashed them into leather gloves.

It’s the same thing with his lips. My house has a bevy of chapstick varieties from all over the planet that Lucas has used once or twice. Given his love for breathing through the mouth, my son has turned his lips into his face’s version of his hands. The broken skin can be pretty brutal.

Again, though, no one is gazing into his lips, so they can often fall under the radar. It’s not until he gets off the school bus with a big tab of skin hanging from them that I give him the ol’…

Lucas, what the hell. We need to put stuff on your lips.

He hears that a lot. It’s usually followed up by…

We need to shave that little fuzz mustache again too.

Sound identical to his clawed mitts? Sure. But that’s the routine. When your kid doesn’t have the words to tell you his lips are falling off, it’s up to a parent to take inventory. So that’s what I do.

I love the old saying, “Once you see the first crack, you see them all.” It’s actually literal in this sense. The moment I catch the cuts and breaks on my boy, I look for any and all issues. From there, it’s a checklist of rambunctious non-verbal adolescent markings.

There are cuts, scrapes, bruises, and zits to discover all over. They’re everywhere, and Lucas, the coolest dude I know, never complains. If he wasn’t such a sweet little soul, I’d train him to be a cagefighter.

With a winced face, he even lets me pop the zits on his face. Every time, I give him the same speech.

I’m sorry, buddy. Daddy has to do this. Only you, though. I don’t pop people’s zits. Just you. This is a big deal.

To his credit, he lets me get them with an expression on his face that looks like Popeye. We follow up with face wash and zit crème. It’s a whole routine.

I’m sure people without special needs kids are reading this and thinking that it’s a story about the work I put in to make my son groomed and clean. It is and it isn’t. For parents in my position, work like this isn’t seen as a big deal. We see it as a basic part of the job.

Also, I see it as something that, when I overlook it, I beat myself up. I don’t congratulate myself for moisturizing his hands. I get mad at myself for letting them get so bad. I don’t applaud myself for chapsticking his lips. I berate myself for allowing them to crack.

Is this thinking wrong? Yeah, I guess I can see that. As most parents to kids like Lucas will admit, we go hardest on ourselves. We can do 99 of 100 things perfectly and focus forever on that one oversight.

Frankly, I’m glad I see it that way. Sure, I may be tough on myself, but that’s how I know I will always keep him looking his best.