It’s Time!

📘 Hi World! I’m Dad: How Fathers Can Journey From Autism Awareness To Acceptance To Appreciation
James Guttman’s new book hits stores worldwide on June 19th!
But you can get it now! Also Available in Audiobook!
👉 Click here to get it on Amazon

I knew the pool was coming.

After all, it’s getting hotter by the day, the sun is shining bright, and my non-verbal son is obsessed with it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. As the father of a kid who routinely plugs in, zones out, and drops off the grid, I’m a big fan of anything that gets him moving. Bringing him to the pool isn’t the issue.

Being in the pool isn’t the issue. It’s kind of adorable. Even at 14, my little manatee bops along, constantly surprised when his feet touch the bottom, soaking in the entire experience. Pool days, like iPad videos and Pirate’s Booty, are among the things Lucas cherishes. You can feel it in every moment.

I often say I wish I had the same devotion to my favorite things that my child with autism has. What some see as a disability, I see as a deeper connection. He’s completely in tune with the activities he loves. No one soaks up every minute of chlorine time like my little man.

No, it’s not the swimming that’s the issue. It’s leaving the swimming that’s the issue.

One past blog I wrote always stands out. It was about the day I tried to get him out of the pool near our house. I was in a rush to pick up his sister from school, so I told him we had to go and Lucas wasn’t having any of it.

The wrestling match that followed would’ve put John Cena to shame. There was cajoling, pushing back, and splashing, all in a nautical setting. I was worried he’d drown or I’d leave my daughter stranded. Unlike Cena, everyone could see us. By the time I finally reeled my giant little man out, I felt like I’d just survived the obstacle course on Wipeout.

That’s when a man, older than me, walked over, tapped my shoulder, and told me I was a wonderful father. It was a comment that stuck with me. It was a proud parenting moment.

But honestly, it was also a silver lining that covered up the bigger story. Because that day wasn’t really about someone thinking I was a great dad. It was about my ever-growing son’s refusal to leave the pool. Jaws would’ve totally eaten us.

So this year, as we drove past the pool, I was haunted by the ghosts of swimming pools past. Would I be able to wrestle him out again? Was this the summer I finally succumbed to our size difference? John Cena’s on a farewell tour. Maybe I was too.

When we arrived, the pool hadn’t opened yet. Lucas darted straight to the gate and started tapping on it, letting me know he was ready.

I assured him we’d go in soon, but had to “waaaaaait.” I stretched out my hand – a gesture that he understands. The more a’s I put in “waaaaaait,” the more serious he knows I am.

To his credit, Lucas stood patiently. No whining. No crying. No melting down. No reactions I’d seen in years past. His desire to swim runs so deep that we don’t even go near the adjacent playground in the off-season. Lucas couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand that he couldn’t dive in whenever he wanted.

But this time, he did. I could feel the shift. He knew I had his back and that he’d get in. “No” didn’t mean never. It meant “wait.”

And once we got in, everything felt different.

Sure, he still tried to drink the water, but even that was less than before. His mouth wasn’t wide open like a pool filter. Instead, I saw the return of an old favorite – the little pink triangle.

What’s that? It’s his tongue. When he was little, Lucas would test the water by poking out his tongue. Just a tiny upside-down pink triangle peeking out from his lips. We’d all laugh… until he drank a gallon of chlorine and everyone panicked.

As the years went on, that triangle evolved into a pelican’s beak, and I was convinced he was going to swallow the deep end.

But this year? Nope. He stuck out his tongue and stopped there.

I noticed it and quietly thanked the poolish heavens for this little sign of maturity.

And then, out of nowhere, it was time to leave.

Not because of an emergency. No one called. His sister didn’t need a ride. He didn’t throw up. Nothing dramatic happened.

Lucas just decided he was ready to go.

After about 40 minutes, he turned to me and lifted one hand out of the water. With the other, he tapped his fingers into his palm. It was his signal for “iPad.”

Yeah? You want iPad?

Repeated palm tap.

OK, buddy. Let’s go.

And he did.

Unlike past years when I had to physically lift and roll him out of the pool like a beached whale, Lucas walked up the stairs. Like a little gentleman, he exited, put on his shoes, and wore his towel like a shawl the entire walk home.

Who is this kid?

He’s my kid. And he’s growing up. All on his own.

No social stories. No visual cues. No planned strategy. We simply waited and when he was ready, he did it.

Moments like this give me hope for the future. My son trusts me. He knows leaving the pool doesn’t mean never coming back. Just like waiting for food doesn’t mean he’ll never eat. He knows I have his best interests at heart. He knows I have his back.

And I do.

Those old days are old. My kid is a different kid this year than he was last year. The trick is to keep pushing forward, not letting past misunderstandings stop us from trying again.

Because one day, he will do the things he doesn’t do now.

It’s my job to give him the chance to show me.