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We had an old-school afternoon in the den last week. I was joined by both my son and daughter for a round of television.

Truth be told, it had been a while since the three of us were together like this, but it used to be the norm. In my head, they’re three and five years old forever. So being back in familiar territory made me smile.

Olivia, now 17, was feeling the nostalgia wave because she leaped to her feet and snatched Lucas’s iPad from his hands. As she did, she performed a dance, called out “Looo-cas,” and ran across the room.

Lucas stood up and began to slowly follow her. As he did, I encouraged him.

Go, Lucas! Go. Get her! Get her!

He understood the chase. It was a classic game in our home and, as his sister gained speed around the couch, he trailed from behind.

Get her! Go, Lucas!

My cheers only encouraged him to catch up. Finally, after a few minutes, he did. He was within inches of his sister and this was it. She was cooked, as the kids say. Right?

Wrong. My boy looked at her with a sweet expression, placed one hand on her arm, and his head on her shoulder. Everyone stopped short.

It was adorable and, in all these years, that’s how the game has always come to an end.

Why? Because my son doesn’t understand the idea of hurting others. He doesn’t hit anyone out of purposeful intent. The concept of catching up to a person just to tackle or strike them is completely foreign to him.

I mean it. You can’t even pantomime a hit of his hand on her arm. I’ve tried it. He always ends up rubbing it sweetly or tapping it gently. My boy doesn’t fight – play or otherwise.

Chalk it up to autism appreciation. Violence isn’t part of his personality.

I thought about that this past week when I learned of an incident on Long Island. A boy named Tyler, who is on the spectrum, was taunted and bullied by children as he rode his bike home from school. It made the local news.

Of course, everyone lines up to insist that “boys will be boys.” It takes us back to the days of being told that “the bully is more afraid of you than you are of him,” or “just punch him in the nose.” It was great advice like this that got smaller kids pummeled for the entire 1980s.

If you saw the video interview with Tyler, you’ll understand why this request is not only outdated, but awful. Tyler, much like my son, isn’t a violent kid.

There’s love and compassion there that I see in my own son. It’s a special way of seeing the world and the exact outlook that we all claim to want our own kids to have. Hell, it’s the outlook that I myself want to have.

So why is our best solution to tell this kid, with no anger in his heart, to learn to be angry and confrontational because other people push him into it?

Why is it our initial instinct to have the sweet kid become more like the mean ones rather than the other way around? How does that make sense?

It’s not his responsibility to strike back or become “tougher.” Just like Lucas, this boy has the exact right outlook on the world. To quote the Michael Bolton character in Office Space, when asked why he doesn’t change his name, “Why should I change? He’s the one who sucks.”

People like me and you are supposed to be there to protect people like my son. If a bully were to harass Lucas, he would never retaliate. I’m not even sure he would register their taunts. My boy, much like many children with varying degrees of autism, doesn’t live in a world where people naturally mock one another.

No. Lucas wouldn’t do anything. He shouldn’t. I don’t want him to.

I’ll do it. Seriously. If someone harassed my son, I’d toss them off the interstate overpass. I often tell people that if I go to jail for defending my son with severe autism, the other inmates would applaud me for it. So, yeah. Make my day, bully-boys. We’re going down the interstate.

Even if you’re one of these “boys will be boys” parents, we need to have a serious talk.

Why is your kid picking on someone with special needs? Why are they intimidating someone who doesn’t fight back? Why did you raise your kid to be that way?

I get it if you want a tough offspring to one day go out and be captain of industry. That’s cool. We all have goals. But the whole point of being a “tough guy” is that you do so at the risk of getting punched in the face. If your kid is attacking a boy they know won’t fight back, what kind of kid are you raising? Even if you don’t teach them any rules in terms of conflict with others, shouldn’t that be the only one?

This world can be dark. People can be cruel and kids can be awful. But my son and many others like him aren’t. I’m glad he’s not.

Ironically, when Lucas was first diagnosed, I wanted nothing more than for him to be like your kids. Now, especially in situations like this, I’m glad he’s not.

And there’s nothing your kid can do to make him.