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When my nonverbal son was small, we were desperate to get his attention. No matter what we did, he rarely looked up unless he wanted to.

It was one of the first signs of autism I noticed and one that made me, for a little while, believe he might be deaf. Hoping your child has hearing loss is a strange feeling, but it’s one I experienced. In my mind, anything was better than what I feared.

Turns out, his hearing is fine. The lack of notice from my little boy was, in fact, autism.

The good news is that I know now, years later, I had nothing to fear.

Back then, though, any small moment of interaction with this happy little kid in my house was met with open arms. When Lucas started trying to engage with us, we were so overjoyed that any way he went about it was welcomed.

For example, you’d be watching TV and he’d come wobbling over. From the side, I’d see him amble up to me and place one hand under my chin. Then he’d turn my head to face him, smile wide, and suction-cup kiss me, with his big open mouth, across the side of my nose and one eye.

It was adorable and disgusting all at once. He did it a lot back then.

He still does it now, if I’m being honest. He did it yesterday.

The difference now is, he doesn’t do it all the time or to people outside our home. In fact, the first time the school told me they were “working on” teaching Lucas the appropriate ways to get someone’s attention, I was confused. Why stop him from interacting? Sure, the execution might be a little off, but getting my son to want to connect with me? That felt like a win. I never wanted to discourage that. I used to pray for it.

Credit the school for seeing something I didn’t. My round little fella was going to grow into a full-sized man. They understood the future before I did.

Sure, I was fine with him physically turning my head to see him. I still am. It’s one of the cutest things he does, and he knows it makes me laugh out loud. Even now, as I tie his shoes, he’ll lift my face with his hand as if to say, “Rise, my child.” When he sees me peer up, he grins bigger than you can imagine, and then suction-cups my face. Gross? Sure, but he’s my kid and I don’t mind.

You know who does mind?

Strangers. Strangers mind.

To me, he’s still tiny. To the world, he’s not. I get that now. I see it.

So when they started teaching him how to tap someone’s arm to get their attention instead, it was an important step, not just for him, but for his future.

As parents to special needs kids, those first attempts at anything are met with celebration. Whether they’re mispronouncing a word, grabbing food that isn’t theirs, or lifting your face with their hand, it’s a sign of something we once feared might never come.

So we let it happen. And as they grow out of baby clothes and into men’s larges, we sometimes don’t even notice. Before you know it, they’re out in the world, and it’s too late to teach new tricks. Old habits harden. Apologies start replacing the “aw”s.

We went through that with food.

In his younger years, Lucas was a bona fide Hamburglar. Leave your lunch in his line of sight, and it was gone. Didn’t matter if it was a salad or a cookie. If Lucas saw it, Lucas took it.

Give the kid credit. He knew what he wanted. If he were verbal, he might have grown up running a company like a cutthroat CEO. Instead, he’s sweet and adorable, occasionally swiping a cookie when your back is turned.

I’ll take the latter.

Of course, every person he swiped a sip of coffee from wanted to let it slide.

Oh, he’s so sweet! I was almost done anyway.

Nope. No letting him have it. No excusing the behavior. Not for nothing, lady, but I don’t know what’s going on in your mouth. I’d prefer to keep my kid’s skin from melting off or catching some tropical disease.

Also – and this is key – it’s just not right.

Taking food at five and taking food at 14 are two very different things. I lived in fear of worst-case scenarios. The last thing I wanted was for someone to lash out at him, and then I would have to go full Tasmanian Devil at a Panera. Nothing’s worse than having to fight for something you know you were wrong about.

Thankfully, he learned. Today, Lucas doesn’t take food from strangers, although sometimes he still does it at home. Same with his signature head-lift. It’s adorable, and we deal with it behind closed doors. But we’ve worked hard to teach him not to do it to people who don’t know him.

I’m grateful to his school for opening my eyes back then.

Lucas today is different than the little boy he was. There’s adorable for home, and inappropriate for out there. That balance matters and makes all the difference.

I love my son more than any other boy on this Earth. But I know the rest of the world doesn’t. If I want him to be accepted in our community, I need to help him be part of it.

That starts with respect and with helping him learn how to handle himself “like a big boy” when we’re out.

And to his credit?

He does.

I couldn’t be prouder.