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My non-verbal son with autism looks me in the eye.

And with that, tons of checklists became questionable. When Lucas was little, I had the same assumptions that everyone else had. Certain things went with autism and other things didn’t.

In my mind, figuring out if your child had autism came down to a definite list of do’s and don’ts. Eye contact was one of, if not the biggest, ones to check for.

Yet Lucas, when you could get his attention, did make eye contact. The fleeting nature of it had less to do with aversion and more to do with distraction. My little guy looked me square in the eyes when I requested.

He still does. In fact, he’ll aggressively look me in the eyes if he wants my attention. From a young age, he got into the habit of placing his hand beneath my chin and lifting my face up to look at his. It’s adorable, and even as we’ve tweaked it to be a little more appropriate in his older age, he still does it today.

Yup. Eye contact. Still has autism.

People with autism don’t hug...right? I learned that from Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman long before my little guy came along. After a weekend of card counting and Judge Wapner, Tom went to hug his Rain Man big brother, and the result was catastrophic.

That had to be a definite sign, right? I made a mental note: never try to hug someone with autism. The results would be dire.

So when my eye-contact-making little fella came along, I knew he didn’t have autism. After all, I could hug him. He loves it. I squeeze him with a “1…2…3…squeeeeze” and he laughs his round little face off. Even today, I can’t escape his inconvenient kisses and hugs for no reason.

Yup. Hugs. Kisses. Still has autism.

I write that now, years removed from his diagnosis, and it all seems textbook. I know he’s on the spectrum, and I know that it’s considered severe. Lucas has many positive points to his personality because of autism, but he also has some unmistakable obstacles too.

Yet, he does so many things that I, as a young parent, felt were impossible if he genuinely had it. After all, this kid falls alseep during fireworks. Everything I read said that he shuld be screaming and holding his ears. I’ve never seen Lucas cover his ears. Ever.

I’d present these findings to doctors as if they were gotcha moments. Ha! Look. Eye contact. Hugs. Fireworks. Where’s your autism diagnosis now, Doctor Demento? How can that be?

And the doctors would shrug and repeat an infuriating sentence.

Some kids with autism make eye contact.

What?! What about hugs?

Some kids with autism hug.

What?! How is that possible?

It’s possible. In fact, it’s very possible. What I didn’t know then, I know now because of my son. Autism is one of the most individualized things I’ve ever seen. It’s not about a checklist, as frustrating as that can be for new parents.

And I’m not even just talking about functioning levels either. People read that and assume I mean there are high-functioning people working at businesses and finding love, which is quite different than my boy, who can’t reach those achievements (yet). Sure, that’s true, but it’s not what I mean here.

The differences go beyond levels. It’s about the person.

I’ve met kids who are right at Lucas’s level and do so many of the same stimming methods he does, only slightly different.

Lucas loves blankets. He chews on them, along with his sleeves. Since he was little, you couldn’t keep him away from the delicious pull of fabric. It’s a part of his autism and a stimming technique that’s always been uniquely him.

I’ve met other children who also have sensory stimulation tendencies. Like Lucas, they seek out their own things. I’ve seen squishy toys, beach balls, and many other objects replace Lucas’s blanket in their hearts. I’ve seen them get the same gratification from squeezing these things with their fingers or bouncing them with their hands that my boy gets from chewing them into shreds.

Same stim. Completely different approach.

That’s something that now feels unmistakable. I see it and I get it. It’s all the same.

Yet for those struggling with acceptance of an early diagnosis, they seem worlds apart. Every possible sign that your little one is just “going through a phase” is held onto. Seeing something that flies in the face of cliché wisdom about autism feels like a momentary glimmer of hope.

Hope for what? That your child doesn’t have this thing you can’t even clearly define? What is it about if it’s not about eye contact or affection? What am I so scared of?

The truth was that I was afraid of something…and I didn’t even know what it was.

All I knew was what it wasn’t. It wasn’t about eye contact. It wasn’t about lack of affection. It wasn’t about anything I assumed it would be. Yet, I was still so firmly against it. It was the unknown that scared me.

Ten years later, I am living in the unknown. My son has grown up, and I’ve learned how autism affects my family.

Is it hard in some ways? Sure. Does it contribute to one of the sweetest, kindest, and purest souls I’ve ever known? Very much.

This is what autism means to us. It’s nothing like I’ve seen on television or in another person’s home. It’s purely Lucas, and he’s perfect.

Similar to others I’ve seen? Sure. Identical? Never.

My boy, like his neurotypical sister, is special. He’s a unique individual who can’t be confined to a checklist or a movie character.

I’m so glad I learned that. And I wouldn’t want him any other way.