Teaching my non-verbal son the names of food was easy. It seems like his receptive language was turbocharged when he knows it ends with a mouthful of pizza.

Most people assume the hardest part of raising a child like mine is getting them what they want, like food or toys. In their minds, the broken bridge of communication is all about going without the things you want most.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Those straightforward requests always happened straight away. When motivated by getting his rewards, Lucas can grasp things surprisingly fast.

To be fair, his ability to understand the names of things he wants isn’t solely about getting his way. It’s because those things are tangible. You can touch a pizza. You can see the Wiggles. It’s a thing. You ask for that thing through gestures or a communication device, and it becomes yours. Open and shut.

But when it comes to abstract ideas, the challenge isn’t just getting him to understand – it’s so much more. It’s the hardest part of communicating with my son.

Case in point: whenever he gets upset or overwhelmed, he rubs my hand all over his face. It can get pretty gross. Hand over hand, he digs my palm into his eyes and temples.

Wake him up, annoy him, or take away his iPad during a particularly clingy moment, and it’s off to the eye sockets we go. Early on, I figured I would show him that it wasn’t appropriate or even comfortable to do this, so I responded by pushing back on his eyes when he placed my palm there.

Guess what. The little freak loved it.

As time went on, I thought about his reasons for this and realized that he could just be dealing with clogged sinuses. I get them too. Most people do. It’s the stuffy feeling that only rubbing your temples, eyeballs, and nose bridge takes away.

I’m guessing that Lucas doesn’t know how to do this. I’ve never seen him rub his face for comfort, but rather as an expression of shyness or sadness. He simply doesn’t do it.

I’ve tried to teach him many times. As he’s essentially assaulting me for control of my hand, I do tricky reversals and manage to get him to use his own hands to rub these areas on his head. And he does it himself, with my hand over his. Case closed?

No. He still forces me to do it every time.

And there’s the disconnect. It’s so much deeper than it seems on the surface too. It’s not just “does he understand?” It’s more.

Does he understand what’s actually happening? Does he realize that rubbing his temple makes him feel better? Does he have the motor skills to put his hand in the right position or apply enough pressure? Does he forget he can do it? Does he remember, but like it better when I do it? Does he not care about any of this and just wants his head rubbed? Ya’ll think too much.

I have no idea.

Still, I show him every time. It often happens when he starts an impromptu wrestling match, while seated next to me in a restaurant booth. I empathize with him, as I know the clogged face feeling. I oppose him because no one wants to eat their appetizer with a giant 13-year-old boy pushing his head into their shoulder.

One of the few parts of the mystery I have solved is that I don’t think it’s about fine motor skills. Don’t get me wrong, I think it plays a role, but not a major one. I know this because we do the same thing with scratching his head.

This kid can physically scratch his own head. I know he can. Yet, when I do it, he stops short with happiness and makes me continue long past the point when I want to walk away. I become his personal manservant.

So again, I show him. It’s nothing more than running his own fingers over his dome. I know he can scratch. He literally has a scratch on his nose right now. No one taught him that one.

Yet, he won’t do it on his own. It’s just his thing and I’m cool with it. The point isn’t to complain about the hard work it takes to scratch my kid’s head. It’s about trying to understand why he won’t, can’t, or simply doesn’t want to do it himself.

No matter how much I learn about my son, there are always going to be parts that remain enigmatic. He literally has a scratch on his nose right now. but now, to be frank, I kind of like it. Lucas always keeps me guessing and some things I might never know.

The things I do know are most important. I know he’s happy. I know he loves me. I know he feels safe and secure within our family. Besides that, nothing else matters anyway.