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Perhaps the biggest misconception I had about autism before my son’s diagnosis was the idea that it came with an absence of emotion. Traditionally presented as monotone and generally devoid of outward expressions, those with autism are often portrayed as stoic, their emotional responses muted or missing altogether.

Is that true in some cases? Probably. Everything is true in some cases, for anything. Every person, on or off the spectrum, is unique. No one can be reduced to a single character on a screen.

In the case of my non-verbal son Lucas, there’s not just no absence of emotion. There’s an abundance of it. He came into this world as the polar opposite of the stereotype I reluctantly accepted when we first received his diagnosis.

As someone who’s been known to feel all the feelings, I was heartbroken at the thought of my son possibly not being able to express any. I wanted his emotions – all of them. Happy, sad, and everything in between were not only encouraged but truly embraced.

The good news is that he had all those emotions to give. For the duration of my son’s life, he has not been devoid of emotion, but overflowing with it. When it comes to how he feels, you never have to guess. Happy, sad, and everthing in between – he rides it to the full extent.

When Lucas is sad, he cries. I’m talking giant Alice in Wonderland drown-the-doorknob tears. It can often come out of nowhere, and even the smallest correction or issue can cause him to become upset.

I’m serious. This isn’t even a major thing. It can be nothing more than a pointed word that hits him the wrong way. Open the back door of the car, just as we’re arriving late to an appointment, and find him with no socks and shoes on.

Let the momentum pick up your voice more than a normal octave and exclaim: Lucas! No. You don’t take your shoes off in the car.

**SCROLL DOWN FOR THIS WEEK’S EPISODE – EMBEDDED BELOW**

And that’s it. Niagara Falls, Frankie Angel. Scrunched-up red face, big Disney teardrops, the sky is falling.

Now I’m comforting him, even though we’re still late, and putting his shoes back on. It’s a whole thing.

You see, my boy is more than a kid with an abundance of emotions. He’s a mirror of emotions. What he sees around him, he often reflects back.

I try to remember that during our most frustrating moments of miscommunication. Despite our years of work, PECs, “talker” iPads, and other devices, there are still times that Lucas and I miss the mark. Shoes in the backseat are just the beginning. It’s not the first time that he and I have ended up on the wrong page.

How I respond dictates how he sees it. Trust me, through our life together, I’ve learned this the hard way. My son isn’t the type of kid you can get upset with and expect to reach an end result that brings understanding.

Wreck his room? Pour a cup of orange juice on his bed right before bedtime? Knock the television off the stand? These are all things that would normally evoke the wrath of a parent. After all, that’s how you correct behavior, right?

It’s debatable for a neurotypical kid. For a kid like mine, it’s the exact wrong response.

Sure, Lucas gets a firm reminder that it’s wrong. It comes with a full pantomime performance.

Hey! Lucas. No. Look at me. No, no, no.

At this point, I wave my finger in the air, our signal for no. He does it back.

If you know “no, no, no,” then why do you do it? Lucas. Look at me. No. No iPad. Look at me. No, no, no.

His gaze goes from me to his device, now sitting on the bed and still playing Sesame Street videos. I start pointing to everything he did.

Look. You see? The television fell. You can get hurt. Look.

Point. Rub my arm and say “ouch, ouch, ouch.” Wave the no finger.

Lucas studies me like it’s a TED Talk. I’m not sure how much is getting through, but I know some of it is.

And we move on. I make him help me pick it up, and then give him the classic move that we both do.

OK. Deep breath. Ready. Stop.

Hand on his chest, I inhale deeply.

Ahhh. Now you do it. Breathe.

And he does.

It works wonders. Compare this method to the old way.

Lucas! Oh my God! What the hell?! The TV is on the floor!

Wide eyes. Massive tears. Waaaaa!

Now I’m too busy hugging him and apologizing to get any message across. If anything, I’m teaching him that breaking the television gets him hugs.

I’m a calm guy. I have been ever since December 13, 2012. A quintuple bypass will do that for you.

As the years have ticked by, I’ve become more and more tranquil. I don’t like to yell or have yelling around me. Lucas doesn’t either, and that’s why we get along so well.

Although, I do wonder if he’s benefited from my calm approach to the world or if he’s actually one of the reasons I’m the way I am. Is it my calm that’s leading him, or is it his need for calm guiding me?

It doesn’t matter. It just is. I’m lucky, and he is too. In many ways, we were made for each other. Realizations like this are just more examples of how the universe gave me the exact son I needed.