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Every day is a new experience when you’re raising a boy with severe autism. The things he knows today might be different than what he knew yesterday. There are surprises around every corner.

Some discoveries fall into my lap. Like the time I casually muttered, almost under my breath, that we “need to go wash your hands.” No enunciation. No pantomime. No device. Just me talking, not even thinking he’d catch it.

When he ran from his room and straight to the bathroom sink, I nearly fell over. My non-verbal little man had understood what I said without me even trying.

It’s rare, but it happens. Lucas has returned with requested cups or shoes before, leaving me stunned that he registered my words. I always cheer, give him a kiss, but hold back from too big a reaction just in case he thinks, “Whoa. That was too much. Let’s not do that again.”

In those moments, his understanding is instant. I ask once. He delivers.

But some skills linger in the background. They’re there, just waiting for the right moment to shine.

Enter the Uno cards.

Back during the hell that was remote COVID learning, I saw how well Lucas could sort Uno cards by color. It was something he had been working on at school, and the first time we logged into his Chromebook, he started laying them down like a riverboat hustler. I couldn’t believe it. It blew me away.

But then life resumed. There were shoes to tie, teeth to brush, IEP meetings to attend, and color sorting fell by the wayside.

Until two weeks ago, when I suddenly remembered: Oh yeah…colors.

I went out and bought a fresh deck of Uno cards. Naturally, I found a forgotten deck in the house the next day, but that’s neither here nor there. The older I get, the more I forget. What were we talking about again?

Right. Uno.

I sat Lucas down, laid out piles by color, and gave the magic prompt.

Go for it. Where does this go? Where does bllllll-uuuuue go? Show me. Blue.

He picked it up…and tossed it on the green pile.

No. Close. Blue. Look. Where’s blue?

He tried red.

No, buddy. Look. Blue.

Then he tossed it on the table, clearly annoyed. And just like that, I went from hopeful to heartbroken.

Had I failed him? Did waiting too long cause him to lose that skill? What kind of dad kills his kid’s Uno sorting abilities? I know that’s not a thing, but I was deep in self-pity.

He kept gesturing to his YouTube iPad, and a voice in my head told me to give up. Write a note to school. Say he doesn’t know his colors anymore. Admit you blew it.

But there was another voice, slightly louder, saying, “Try again.“

So I did.

No. Look. It goes here. Blue… blue. Now try this. Yellow. Do yellow.

I don’t know whether it was because I wasn’t getting frustrated, or because he sensed we weren’t in a rush, but something clicked.

He did yellow. Then red. Then green. Then blue.

Soon, we had sorted the entire deck.

From there, it’s been non-stop color matching. We moved to the basement, where I’d hold up an Uno card, change the LED lights to that color, and ask him to identify it on his communication tablet.

It was kind of adorable.

Lucas, look. Blue. See the blue card? Blue… Hey Google, make basement lights blue.

Ding. The room glowed. He looked around like he was stepping into Willy Wonka’s factory.

Now, you do. Show me. Blue.

And he pressed the right button on his iPad. I was bursting with pride, but also painfully aware of how close I came to missing that moment.

If I had let him give up in those first five minutes, it could have been lost, at least with me. Maybe he’d do it for someone else, but he’d know, My dad doesn’t think I can do this. So I won’t.

That’s how Lucas operates. He becomes exactly what you expect him to be.

If you’re the bus matron? He’ll limp up the steps until you basically Heimlich him into his seat. If you’re someone feeding him? He’ll act like forks are ancient artifacts. Lucas doesn’t work harder, he works smarter.

And I know that now.

So count Uno color-identification back in our skill set. I know he can do it. But more importantly, he knows that I know he can do it. That’s our bond—and our foundation moving forward.

It’s a skill that could have been skipped, shelved, or forgotten. But I’m glad I didn’t give up.

At the end of the day, Lucas is the one who holds all the cards.

Color me proud.