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The headline used to be about simply taking Lucas to the store. After all, when you have a young non-verbal child with autism, you plan your outings around them.

I know I did. If I had to go somewhere, I tried to do it when Lucas was in school. This wasn’t out of assumptions or fear. It was based on real situations that became difficult.

Those days were so long ago now, but I remember them as if they were yesterday. In fact, I find myself writing about them sometimes as if they are current topics, instead of the distant memories they truly are.

Going down certain aisles or turning into parking lots are a prime example. For years, my boy would break into tears when we suddenly pulled into a random lot or tried to walk into a section of the supermarket. Why? I don’t know. I still don’t. At the time, I didn’t realize a key part.

He didn’t know either.

That was an epiphany. They sneak up on me sometimes when I write these posts. I hadn’t realized it until just now, as I typed it out for you to read.

I say this because Lucas’s sudden tears have subsided over the years. There are no more mystery breakdowns or confusing meltdowns. Today, if my son is upset over a situation, I can usually figure out what that situation is.

His reaction to those sudden turns back in the day can be traced back to a fear of the unknown. I know that feeling because I experienced it too during the early days of his diagnosis. Doctors, unable to predict a future for him, left me with a feeling of dread… even though I didn’t know what I was dreading.

Lucas felt the same way about a change in scenery or a random pivot down an aisle. He had no idea where we were going and couldn’t ask. All he could do was trust this giant person who buckled him into the car.

Did he trust me back then? Probably not. Would you? He knew me for – what? – six years? But the first few of those were spent toddling around, barely aware of the world beyond his toys and snacks. All he knew was that I made him leave the comfort of his home to go do something that was, well, boring. Heck, it was my idea to come to this grocery store and I’m bored. Imagine how he must see it.

As the years went by, the trust started to build. Before long, activities that once felt like slow torture became team projects. Haircuts, walks, and trips all became easier to do. Lucas knew that I, as his dad, would always look out for him. He wasn’t told this. He saw this.

Getting to that understanding takes a while. You need to be consistent and communicative. Even during the times when I doubted he could understand anything I was trying to say, I still said it. I told him where we were going. I showed him pictures of who we would see. I made a buzzer sound as I ran my hand over his head before he got a trim. He was part of the plan until it all just clicked.

Today, it clicks. He gets it and, because of that, we have evolved our approach together.

This past weekend, I took Lucas to Target and left his iPad in the car. Even now, at 14, he would insist on his YouTube tablet. It often felt like a hassle, trying to fenagle it away from his face while we walked. To me, just getting him to the store was important. When we went, I’d let him pick out a snack on his own. Aside from that, he was just company.

Our most recent trip was different. Lucas was locked in. Flying without the iPad parachute, I put my trust in him that there would be no full-scale tantrums.

And he put his trust in me that this wouldn’t be a painful journey.

We both were right.

When we got to the jeep, I popped the trunk and stopped him as he tried to open the back door. In another (very recent) lifetime, that would have sent him down a spiral. His beloved tablet was just feet away, yet I stopped him. A part of me braced for impact.

There was none. Rather, he stayed by my side and, one by one, I handed him items from the cart and had him place them in the trunk. To someone seeing us, it looked kind of silly. If I just tossed them in myself, it would have taken half the time. When he was done, I ended up rearranging them anyway.

None of that mattered, though. What mattered was that he was seeing what was expected and shown how to be part of the team. Just as he was shown that he could trust me during the early years, now it was time to understand his role in all of this.

That would never have been possible without building that bond of trust. It’s from keeping him in the loop rather than telling him to quiet down before closing the car door on his sad little face. He knows that I have his best interests at heart always.

In the end, it was about talking to my son as if he understood me… even when he didn’t. Now that he does, it makes everything so much easier.