When my kids were babies, life was simpler. We’re often encouraged to say otherwise, but it’s true. I could physically pick them up and transport them wherever they needed to go, whether they were fussing, crying, or sleeping. Time was ticking, little one. Off we went.

Clothes, shoes, food, and anything else that had to get done got done by me, their father, doing the heavy lifting. There was no negotiation or battle. There was just movement.

As my neurotypical daughter grew older, she naturally took over these tasks. I was no longer tying her shoes or carrying her to the car. She grew, and with that growth came independence.

For my son, the story was a bit different. Lucas is non-verbal with autism and, despite his age of 13, there are things that he still looks to me for help with. It’s something that just sort of persisted through the years.

When you’re focused on speech and schooling, certain missed milestones fall by the wayside. I found myself doing all of these actions for him, along with many more, long into his older years.

In Lucas’s case, this is all acceptable. People will even applaud me for devoting so much to my boy. It is seen as an act of service, which it is.

It’s also my boy playing me at times too.

Lucas knows darn well how to put on his socks. He knows how to clear his plate from the table. He knows how to wash his hands. Yet, he’ll glance up at me with those same eyelashes he got from my DNA, and try to get me to do it for him.

None of it is out of malice. It’s out of, well, nothing. Laziness, maybe? Is there a simple way to say, he just doesn’t want to do it himself? I guess maybe that’s it. He just doesn’t want to do it himself.

Where he strikes gold with this thinking is that I don’t mind doing it for him. Why? Allow me to paint a picture that happens often in our home.

After finishing a meal, Lucas will stand up from the table, his iPad in one hand and his cup in the other. As he begins to walk away, I’ll call out from over the kitchen counter.

Lucas. Wait. Give me your plate.

He knows what “plate” means, but sometimes the YouTube video playing on his device distracts him. So, I repeat the request, adding crude hand motions to symbolize a dish.

Plate. Plate. Lukey. Plate. Give me the plate.

He’ll look up at me, place his cup in his mouth by the straw, and with his free hand, he’ll precariously pick up the edge of his plate. As he lopsidedly brings it two feet toward the sink, it tilts, and all the crumbs collected from his meal spill onto the floor like snow.

OK. So now that is what happens when I let him do it himself. Want to know the alternative?

He leaves the table with his iPad, and I come around to get his plate. The end.

One of these options only takes a single sentence to describe. That’s the one Lucas prefers. That’s the one I prefer. But that’s the one I don’t do.

I don’t do it because he needs to learn. He needs independence. And that requires trust that he can do these things on his own. The only way that happens is if I allow him to try, even if it’s less hassle for me to just do it myself.

Learning to step back from the impulse to do everything for Lucas isn’t easy. It goes against my parental instincts from his earliest days. It also goes against my own desire to save time and energy. But deep down, I know that doing what’s right for him means giving him the gift of self-sufficiency.

Many of these things we both know he can do. Maybe he can’t do them perfectly, but that’s what practice is for. Plus, by making it his responsibility to take the reigns on these things, he’ll realize that it’s becoming expected of him. It makes him step up when he’d rather lie down.

This goes for everything and everyone, if we’re being honest. I do it, albeit on a different scale, for his sister, but I do it. It’s a basic part of parenting and I think any parent reading this can relate. We all want to be the daily saviors for our kids. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help them grow. It just teaches them to wait for heroes to come flying into their lives to make everything easier.

Spoiler alert: Outside of Subway, there are no heroes. So, put your own plate in the sink.