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I think I may have made a quack noise once and saw a reaction that made me think he understood.

Although, I’m not sure if it technically qualified as a “quack” in the literal sense. What I did was put my balled-up hand to my mouth and sort of beatbox-kazoo’d it. The noise was a toot, but it definitely had duck energy. My non-verbal son, usually ignoring us at his young age, looked up.

So, I ran with it. The next time we were eating dinner, I put my fist to my mouth, kazoo-quacked, and made immediate eye contact with him. Then, in a moment of sheer improv, I dramatically jerked my body around as if looking for something under the table, stared back at Lucas, and asked…

“Duck?! Did you hear that duck?!”

And he laughed out loud.

It might as well have come with confetti from the ceiling. This was my crowning achievement of both comedy and autism breakthroughs. Temple Grandin meets George Carlin. Stop the presses. This was genius stuff.

This was years ago and for a while, I thought I had found the key to unlock his humor. Every time I did it, he’d laugh out loud. I loved it.

Then, one day, I tried to show someone. We were out at dinner and I confidently raised my duck fist to my ducklips and let out the toot. In one of my most flippy body movements, I peered under the table, and shouted, “Duck?!” I then looked at Lucas.

He was staring at me as if he was watching the evening news. The expression on his face was like, “What the duck is wrong with you?” The audience was unimpressed. Uh, yeah. That’s great.

It was kind of mortifying. I basically said, “Watch me!” Then I threw my body around a booth at Chili’s. I felt like Stewart on Mad TV. “Look what I can do!”

Today, he reacts to it sometimes. Other times he doesn’t. Either way, I learned an important lesson from all that. Lucas decides what hits and what misses. There’s no genius from me. There are only connections from us.

Now, imagine I went out and told the world to follow my lead? That first duck sighting was filled with all of this emotional output. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Go forth, everyone! Make duck noises for your non-verbal children! That’s the secret to unlocking communication.

Not only wasn’t it the key to “unlock” non-verbal children… it wasn’t even the key to unlock my own. It was a moment that I, as his father, tapped into my son’s personality and sense of humor. It was a joke we shared that, through the years, I have kind of run into the ground.

That’s why this blog isn’t written as an instruction manual. It’s more of a memoir with lessons and anecdotes thrown in. Take what you think might work, ignore what you think won’t, and try to enjoy the stories of my boy woven throughout.

I say this because, to be frank, I don’t know your kid. I know mine. All the things I say about him are about him only. How I highlight the beautiful ways autism affects Lucas might be nothing like how they affect your child. They might be identical. I have no idea.

There’s no catch-all for all children on the spectrum, and I’d never be so arrogant as to insist I know what they are. I won’t lecture you on what you need to do or what you shouldn’t. I’d never profess to know your child better than you do. If we’re being honest, I’m still figuring out my own. Understanding, in our home, is a long-term work in progress.

Aside from my book, I try not to peddle products or promise cures here either. I know the struggle that comes with having a young child, first diagnosed. The days of baby Lucas filling my heart with worry weren’t that long ago. My desire to throw money at anything that promised to help my son was massive. I can still feel it.

Facts are facts. I have a silly sense of humor and my son, just like his sister, shares so much of who I am. He gets my silliness and, deep down, I knew that. By being over-the-top in my comedic expressions, I know that Lucas will get it. That’s what I did that day. That’s the basis for so many of our funny moments today.

You might be serious. Your kid, most likely, follows suit. Searching for duck noises might not get the same reaction I did the first time I did it for Lucas. Hell, I don’t get the same reaction I did the first time with Lucas.

My whole point here is that I’m always learning. I’m searching for the openings to bond with my child. When I find them, I’ll write about it. When I make a misstep, I’ll write about that too. Our autism journey isn’t over. It’s a long road ahead and we’re searching for the answers.

Avoid those who claim to have found all the answers. Stick with the ones who are still searching. Go with your instinct. Know your child. Do what works for them. What works for me might not work for you. Then again, it might. We’re all just in this together.