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My son Lucas is 14 years old, non-verbal, and has autism.

That one sentence explains why I still prepare for every outing like we’re going on a road trip, even if we’re just driving down the block.

From the time he was little, I’ve packed bags full of snacks, wipes, juice boxes, and backup clothes. And even now, with him growing taller and more independent, I keep a full kit stashed in the trunk just in case.

Not because he can’t express to me what he needs.

But because there was a time when he couldn’t.

Since Lucas was tiny, I’ve been preparing for every move he makes. Leaving the house wasn’t just stepping out the door. It was an operation.

All babies have diaper bags, but once Lucas aged out of bottles, his needs moved to knapsacks and hatchbacks. We didn’t go anywhere without wipes for his grubby little fingers and Pirate Booty for his hungry little face. Juice boxes and changes of clothes all lived (and continue to live) in my car.

Even as he’s gotten older and, in many ways, become more mature, I still think ahead on these things. Nine times out of ten, he’s fine. That one time, though… that’s where a parent like me mentally lives.

I have to. Lucas needs me, and as his father, I’ve made it my mission to give him the same life and attention he’d have even if he had a million words to spout out.

When my son is hungry, I usually learn about it at the last possible second. Imagine his hunger as a ticking countdown. It could be building up for hours. He doesn’t let me know about it until it’s a minute to midnight, so to speak.

His requests are frantic. He’s tapping his mouth and pulling me toward wherever food might be. If we’re in the car or somewhere without a waiting buffet, he’ll start to twist and turn with whines. For a kid his size, it can be a tall order to bring the mood back down.

Luckily, I have what he needs. Whether it’s a snack in the car or a plan in motion to get him fed, I know when he’s hungry often before he does.

Is it some sort of mental ability? Maybe. Perhaps I have an otherworldly gift. Let’s go with that. I always know when he needs things.

That sounds better than telling you all the missteps we’ve taken through the years. There was a time before we both were so in sync. It was during those days that I’d find myself confused over what my boy could want. He seemed to go from zero to miserable in no time flat.

Of course, it wasn’t always about food. Sometimes he just wants to rest or get to a waiting iPad. He could be antsy or uncomfortable. He could be anything. He’s a person. Whatever he needs is, as some people mistakenly believe, “locked away.”

Lucas isn’t locked away. We have his “talker” tablet with push buttons, ready to tell me his needs. There are hand gestures and pantomime that we both can interpret. We can point or simply walk to whatever he needs. I’ve been led by the hand to the kitchen or his bedroom door on numerous occasions.

There are also times when he wants to be left alone. You know what he does then? He takes my hand…

And literally tosses it toward his door. I kid you not. Little bugger.

For young parents, stories like this draw ahhs and ohhs. After all, little kids embarking on an autism journey without words can be terrifying for a parent. Stories like mine sound so far away.

I know this because I once heard them and, back then, that’s how it felt. You need to remember that there was once a time when I didn’t think Lucas understood anything.

You mean like math?

I mean like everything.

The day we put the faces of each of our family members on his brand-new tablet and he couldn’t match me to the word “dad” ripped my heart out. It was like getting geared up for a big race and, just as you’re about to start, the guy with the starting gun shoots you.

Good news and spoiler alert: He knows me now. This is, however, years later. It didn’t happen overnight and it wasn’t something that was easy in the beginning.

It took time and patience. We read stories when I didn’t think he was listening and had conversations that he was seemingly oblivious to. We still have those discussions now and again. You know what I do? I keep talking.

I do all of this because I wanted my son to know that he was a part of our world and a part of my heart. If there was even a small chance that he knew what was going on around him, I never wanted him to think he didn’t matter.

So I showed him attention even when it didn’t seem to register. I showed him love when I didn’t think he could grasp the concept.

Because of that, we have the connection we do today. I’m able to anticipate his needs, and he knows how to tell me ahead of time what they might be. He also knows that, if he’s hungry and lets me know, I’ll eventually feed him. Sure, he might grumble, but the tantrum meltdowns (not sensory ones) have greatly decreased. He just needed to know that he was being heard, so I show him that he is.

Still, I pack the bags and scan the environment for any possible obstacles in our way. It’s that preparation that shows him he can count on me. That’s kind of the whole point. His dad has always been there for him and always will be.

The best part? He knows it.