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One of the strangest paradoxes of raising a non-verbal child with autism is that you have to do everything…and nothing.

Everything is the same everything people imagine when they hear the words “severe autism”. Lucas needs a lot of assistance and, at 14, some might find it to be a bit much.

Me? I’m cool with it. He’s a great kid, a positive force in my life, and makes me smile every day. I’ll brush his teeth hand-over-hand for as long as he needs me to.

The reason I say that I have to do “nothing” is that Lucas never needs to go out. He is completely content with staying home all day, every day. It’s one of the few personality traits that has held strong all his life.

Granted, most 14-year-olds like to camp out in their room for hours on end. My son, however, will do it for days, weeks, and years. I could literally throw food in there every few hours, and he’ll come out in a decade with a long beard. He’s good like that.

Even the pool, his yearly obsession, only becomes a destination for him when he actually sees it. He doesn’t come to me with swim trunks or requests for anything besides iPads, toys, or food.

But still, I take him out.

Where? I don’t know. Things that put some sunlight on his round little face. Stores, fairs, sit-down restaurants…you name it. Whenever I can pry him from his room, I try to do it.

Of course, I don’t want to do much either. I’m kind of a homebody myself. As a single dad, many of these outings are just the two of us. So going out when neither of us want to go seems, well, insane.

Still, we go out.

I always have and even for couples, these types of getaways can lead to quarrels. It takes one parent, less enthusiastic than the other, to turn it into a battle.

He hates it. Why are we even here?

The answer? I don’t know. Because it’s what we do.

I’m not sticking my kid in his bedroom for the rest of his life. Even now, I let him stay in there more than I’d like. So the times we get out are important, even when neither of us is itching to see the world.

That’s what happened this past weekend. My daughter was feverishly studying for her AP tests, so she can continue to get grades I only dreamed about at her age. So my son and I headed out to the local train station fair.

Sounds fun? Not really. There were rides he didn’t want to go on, bouncy houses he was too big for, and kiosks with free keychains from insurance companies. This was not Coachella. This was Seaford.

Still, I took him out, even though, right from the start, he didn’t want to get out of the car. I’m used to this by now and thankfully, we weren’t in a hurry. He could drag his feet all he wanted. Our goal was to enter the area, take some pictures, and head out when he was over it. The only rule was that he couldn’t be over it until we began. His face kind of said it all.

It wasn’t as difficult as past times. Lucas has gotten good with handing his iPad over when we leave the car and walking, while still the bane of his existence, is more tolerable. Hand in hand, we were able to cross the entrance, walk past the vendors, and soak in the atmosphere.

After a short while, he spotted an empty folding chair and began to tug me towards it. I knew that he wanted to sit down. More importantly, I’ve learned that this isn’t the type of request you ignore for him. My son isn’t a wait-a-minute type of guy. Sitting, during times of walking, can be one his fiercest demands.

To his credit, Lucas did actually allow us to wait-a-minute as I pointed to another empty seat in front of the stage. A local band was playing, so it made more sense to sit there than to at the empty table the fair people couldn’t get a vendor for. His willingness to listen to me was a sign that he trusts me and knows that he’s understood.

We made our way and took a seat in the sparse audience facing the musical act. Lucas didn’t show any reaction other than to look around and take it all in. He didn’t hate it, but I didn’t know if he liked it. It just felt like he was tolerating it, which was a positive.

After a few minutes, he put his hand in mine and started to rub my finger with his. It’s one of the ways I know he’s happy where he is. He does it with his sister a lot, and it’s our secret code that he’s comfortable.

Actually, I don’t know if comfort is the best way to explain it. Maybe happiness? Safe and secure? Releaxed? I know what it is, but I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s just a shared emotion that we both know. It’s part of the magic that comes with having a non-verbal child.

There are some things you can’t explain to others, because they’ve never been explained to you. It’s just a feeling we both have. The bond I have with my son tells me the meaning.

It was the highlight of the weekend and a beautiful moment that comes with having Lucas in my life. The entire scene was directly influenced by his autism and the way it affects his personality. It was a shared moment that can’t be duplicated with anyone else I’ve ever known.

That’s why I keep taking him out. Not for the rides or the crowds, but for those rare, quiet moments when we sit together under the sun, and without saying a word, remind each other that we’re exactly where we need to be.