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It might sound terrible on paper, but bear with me. It’s not what it looks like.

Someone hearing my story might shudder at the turns it takes every few years. I had a rough childhood and a frustrating young adulthood. When I started having kids, it all seemed to turn around.

My daughter was healthy and happy. Through the years, she’s shown herself to be gifted in so many ways. Impeccable school records and a work ethic that blows my mind, Olivia is the type of kid that other parents congratulate you for… even if you don’t deserve the credit for the drive she was born with.

If it sounds like I’m hesitant to take credit for my her achievements, it’s because I know that kids are who they are. If I were to claim responsibility for all the early milestones that Olivia hit, I’d have to take responsibility for all the ones her brother eventually missed.

Three years after she was born, Lucas came along. My guy is 14 today, and his severe autism includes being non-verbal. He’s my favorite boy in the world, and he struggles with many skills that most kids figure out in early childhood.

And I realize that sounds terrible on paper. Those who don’t know Lucas might write off his place in my life as a pitfall. To have a child with pronounced disabilities is a truly sad story, right?

No… but we’ll get back to that in a minute.

A little less than two years after Lucas was born, I had a heart attack…which led to a surprise quintuple bypass…at 35 years old. Once again, it’s another twist that sounds terrible on paper. I get it.

Recovery was hard and required a completely different outlook on life. My lifestyle changed. At the top of the list was how I handled stress.

For the 35 years prior, I didn’t handle those feelings well. Frustration was a big part of my life. Whether I was in the wrong places, dealing with the wrong people, or just feeling off physically, I didn’t know how to relax. There was too much to worry about.

A rebuilt heart called for a rebuilt life. It took a little while, but I learned to breathe. The problems that used to plague my brain were nothing I couldn’t get past. The problem I never considered – clogged arteries – nearly killed me. That’s a hard fact to overlook. Color me Alfred E. Neuman. What, me worry?

No more. The worries went away, and my outlook changed. Everything changed.

Soon, that terrible-on-paper heart problem made me a happier person than I ever was before. My new zen-like approach to the world played out in real time. Those near me saw who I was.

For some, it was an issue. I had to wish some people into the proverbial cornfield and move on with my life. There were forgotten friends, fairweather family, and divorce papers to sign.

One person benefited greatly from it, though. Lucas.

My son was just starting to go through his diagnosis at the time of my surgery. Sure, I had to come to grips with his reality and what it meant for our family, but I wasn’t angry about it. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t blame myself. I didn’t blame anyone. I was just glad to have two kids I loved in my house. He was one of them.

I didn’t correct him for playing with toys “incorrectly.” Instead, I tried to join him. There were no fatherly meltdowns when he didn’t use a fork properly or dress himself at the age he “should.” Instead, there was patience and compassion. The best part? I didn’t have to force myself to be that way. I just was.

It was as if the universe made me into who I was supposed to be in order to raise him right. And make no mistake, this is who I had to be.

Lucas is an emotional mirror. Scream, and he’ll scream back. Freak out, and he’ll match you. Get yourself all wrapped up in aggression, and he feels it. He responds in kind.

I can’t imagine how different life would have been if I hadn’t had that surgery. As one doctor told me, “You know those guys who walk around perfectly healthy and then die of a heart attack at 40? That was going to be you.”

Somewhere, there’s a timeline where I keeled over at 40, freaking out over Lucas’s inability to buckle his seatbelt. I feel it in my bones. I know how close I came to being a negative statistic in a number of charts.

That terrible-on-paper surgery changed my life. It made me a better father and a better person. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Perhaps the biggest drawback was that I felt lost in those initial recovery months. Getting a new lease on life changes your views on the old lease. Suddenly, my career felt aimless. My writing was focused on pop culture, wrestling, and humor. It didn’t feel important. I didn’t think I was giving something good to the world.

And then, in 2016, I wrote about Lucas, and everything changed.

For the past nine years, I’ve told the world about autism appreciation and tried to put our best foot forward. That terrible-on-paper surgery made me the dad I needed to be. That terrible-on-paper diagnosis gave me the opportunity to tell the world about the positives of autism… something I wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for the surgery.

It’s all a loop, and time is a flat circle. Call it divine intervention. Call it a master plan. Call it whatever you want. All I know is that everything worked out for the best.

And if I had simply let life happen to me and cried over how things appeared on paper, rather than truly looking at the beauty hidden within these moments, I would have missed it all.

But I didn’t. And I’m grateful every day for that.