I was downstairs this past weekend when I heard the familiar steps of my daughter. My 16-year-old girl is a super-secret clog dancer because most times when I’m in the basement, I hear her stomping with all the fervor of a Stomp concert.

I thought my son, Lucas, was two floors above me in his bedroom with the gate closed, so I assumed it was Olivia jumping on the wood floors. I never know why she steps so hard, but I routinely send texts upstairs that ask, “Are you marching for world peace up there?”

Unsure if she’s trying to get my attention, I usually come up after a little bit to check. Since we were near dinner time, I figured that’s what was happening. We’re pretty good with non-verbal cues in this house. So, I went to see what was up.

As I climbed the stairs and peered out the open door, I realized I was wrong about a few things. First, it wasn’t Olivia on the main floor. Second, Lucas’s gate wasn’t closed.

Loving Lucas for Who He Is, Not Who I Feared He’d Be

I knew this because there was my non-verbal 13-year-old son, jumping up and down as he dashed around. I stepped quietly behind him, and when he turned and saw me, he froze, his face wide with surprise.

Looking down, I noticed a handful of Pasta-Roni that I had saved in the fridge, on the floor. When I took a longer look at his face, I could see a good amount of the macaroni leftovers scrubbed across his cheeks, chin, and mouth.

Stunned, he slowly lifted his hand to offer me his iPad, its battery drained after a long day. He’d come down to find me for help but took a wrong turn at the unguarded refrigerator.

I let out a sigh as his gaze stayed fixed on me. Without saying a word, I just looked at him with a deflated expression, took him by the hand, and walked him up to bed. There was no protest or whining. He silently joined me as we went up to his room

You could tell from the look on his face that he knew he had done something that normally comes with a stern tone, a wag of the finger, and a one-sided lecture about “being a big boy.” In this case, I didn’t feel it was needed.

He was tired. Sleep wasn’t a punishment—it was exactly what he needed but couldn’t express. Lucas offered no resistance to bedtime and seemed to comprehend that he should be in trouble for pillaging the leftovers with his bare hands, but he wasn’t. I gave him a kiss goodnight, tucked him in, and he was out cold in minutes.

sleep

You often hear the whimsical story about George Washington, the first U.S. President, chopping down a cherry tree. When confronted, the legendary leader supposedly told his parents, “I cannot tell a lie. I did it.”

True or not, this story is meant to illustrate the honesty of old George. It tells you that the first president had a pure soul.

Well, G-Dub has nothing on my son. If Lucas had chopped it down, he’d still be standing there with the axe in his hand and slowly hand it over with puppy dog eyes. My son can’t tell a lie because…well, he just can’t.

I never really thought about it much, but this speaks volumes about my boy. Lucas’s absence of spoken words may hinder his communication with some who don’t have the patience or understanding to grasp what he wants. However, there are positives to it too.

In moments like this, I realize how often we use our words to muddy the water, confuse the message, and divert attention from the things we do wrong. Lucas offers no explanations. He doesn’t blame others or try to deflect. He stands there, surrounded by the aftermath of his actions, and looks at you as if to say, “Yeah. Sorry. Now what are we gonna do?”

Amid all of that, he will search my face for a response. I can tell when he senses his mistakes and I appreciate that there’s no attempt to make it worse by lying. That’s a lesson we often try to teach our kids, right?

happy car

Add this to his inability to bully, tease, mock, or hurt others with his thoughts and words. It’s all just more positives for a “disability” that most only cite negatives for.

Reading this, most would assume that being non-verbal is a double-edged sword. Sure, he can’t lie or tease, but he also can’t say he loves me or that he’s happy…right?

Except that he can. Loving gestures and positive expressions are easy for him to show. He gives hugs, kisses, and smiles that are unmistakable. Lucas has no issues showing the good things.

There’s literally no way for him to lie about the things he’s done. Words aside, there are non-verbal ways to deceive and, while he could always attempt to hide his errors, he never does. He also rarely, if ever, hits or acts out aggressively. Sure, he has his moments, but it just isn’t part of his nature – verbal capabilities or not.

Do I wish my boy had words to speak? Of course I do. What parent wouldn’t? I want Lucas to have all the resources available to him in order to have a life free of stress or miscommunication. That’s never something I pretend otherwise.

Right now, however, he doesn’t. He might never have them. So, it allows me to see the person he is without verbal communication. The positive aspects not only exist, but they are obvious.

Without deception or explanation during times like these, I get to see the exact person Lucas is. The purity of his heart is on full display in all his actions. No one is more cards-on-the-table than he is.

Unlike the cherry tree story, there’s no legend here – just the undeniable truth reflected in my son’s eyes. George Washington has nothing on little Mr. Past-roni over here. My kid cannot tell a lie and, even if he could, I know he never would.