📖➡️ James Guttman’s new book – “Hi World, I’m Dad: How Fathers Can Journey to Autism Awareness, Acceptance, and Appreciation” is now available for preorder! Click here to get your copy from Amazon now.

When my 14 year old non-verbal son was still my one year old non-verbal son, the words spoken by family, friends, professionals, and strangers were all meant to cause calm. In that brief time period, they did.

With a hand on my shoulder and an uptick in their voice, they’d tell me the stories of children I never knew, related to people I’ve never met, and how they said their first words at two, three, or five. The oldest I heard was seven.

Sometimes, they’d even craft scenarios that I lived in, within my mind, for weeks to follow. There’d be a smile and that same uptick.

One day, you’ll walk into his room and he’ll look up and say, “Hi Dad.” You’ll see. He will.

Spoiler alert: He didn’t.

It took the passing of all those years to truly drive the point home. My son might never speak, and given how he was progressing in other departments, the road ahead looked a bit bumpy.

I had no context or understanding of what was to come. Up until now, everyone had said I was just “worrying for nothing.” That elusive “Hi Dad” was the one thing I was hanging my hat on.

Now, what was the plan? The plan was to keep on keeping on. What else could the plan be? Run away? No thanks. This was my kid and he needed me, now more than ever.

Still, it scared me. The fear was less about him and more about me. Could I do this? Could I build bridges of understanding and connect to a boy who doesn’t speak? Can I handle the responsibility of being so much for him?

It’s a lot to ask yourself and I couldn’t answer it back then. I had no idea who I was or what I could do. I hadn’t truly vetted my support system and, when that fell apart, I had to forge my own way.

For the past ten years, I have gotten used to Lucas’s autism, accepted his non-verbal way of life, and learned to appreciate who he is. I did all of this by seeing the answers to those questions I just posed. I also addressed another crucial question.

Why?

No, not why does my son have autism in the scare-tactics, national registry, finger-pointing way. I mean it in a personal way. I mean it in the ways it relates to me.

Why did the universe give me a non-verbal son with autism?

In those early days, I went through all the possibilities. Is this a lesson? Is it a response to something I needed to learn or change? Had I bragged about my daughter’s accomplishments? Had I bragged about my own? Do I talk too much? Why did the universe give such a flawed parent such a deep responsibility?

Then, time went on, and I got to know my son. That’s when I had an answer.

The universe gave me my son because I need him. I need him as much as he needs me.

There are a million reasons why I’m saying this, and even the things that seem most difficult play into it. Does Lucas need me to care for him? Will he need me for the rest of my life? Yes and yes.

But I invite that. I really do. He makes me feel needed and wanted. In a life where many people I expected to be around until my final day have been wished into the cornfield, Lucas is the constant. He’s my rock, my ride or die, and his need for me isn’t fickle or fake. It’s the realest thing in my world.

My son is also unlike any other son I could have ever been given. Like everyone else, I’m sometimes down on myself or down for no reason at all. When that happens, Lucas picks me up. You literally can’t stay upset around him – whether you’re upset at him, a situation, or yourself.

Zone out for a minute, thinking about some deep social issue, and my son will come over, tap your hand, laugh, and give you a kiss. It’s like clockwork. He’s either kissing, hopping for joy, or requesting my help with something. You can’t feel sad, unloved, or unneeded when my son is around – at least, I can’t.

You can’t stay upset about some boring grown-up thing when you have a boy, overflowing with enthusiasm, wanting you to watch him clap happily for his YouTube video. In that moment, it doesn’t make sense, but it makes all the sense in the world.

And that’s it. This is the person I have in my life and, while I’d love to help him learn everything he needs to learn, I would never wave a wand and change him as a human being.. He’s perfect.

Perfect, as I use it here, isn’t some flowery word to generate cuddle-heart-emoji reactions. I mean it in the sense that he’s perfect for my life. I need this kid just as much as he needs me. He keeps me going every day. He showed me that I’m not flawed…at least not as much as I once thought.

Will Lucas pay taxes or drive me to the store? No. But everyone does that. What he can do is make me feel like the most important person on the planet. No one else does that. That’s why, in my world, he’s perfect.