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I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. When you have a non-verbal child with severe autism, the hard part isn’t doing things for him. It’s letting him do things for himself.

Lucas will let whoever he’s with treat him the way they see him. If you assume he can’t do anything, he won’t do anything. I often mention the time that I saw the bus matron shoving him up the stairs Weekend-at-Bernie’s style. My little grifter had worked her into thinking he couldn’t walk. In another lifetime, he’s an international con man, racking up jewels and money.

In this lifetime, though, he’s my little man and he needs to be self-sufficient. Things he doesn’t know how to do need to be taught, and that takes, well, time and patience.

Shoes are a big example. Getting my son ready to go out can take either two minutes or many minutes. It all depends on who’s in charge of the actions.

If it’s me, I just ram his feet into his sneakers and we’re out the door. The old game of “Shoe, Shoe, Sock” is simpler when I’m the one doing it. You don’t realize how many ways it can be done incorrectly.

For example, there’s the heel issue. Put on a pair of socks with the heel facing up and you have a bunched-up piece of cloth ruining your day. The shoe doesn’t fit right. The sock gets twisted. Within minutes, he’d be taking them off in the back seat anyway. Proper sock placement is important.

Even without the laces, his footwear can be an incredible issue too. Lucas knows how to shove them on, but he cares nothing for the tongue or which shoe goes on which foot. He just knows that they need to cover his feet, so he does that.

There have been few, if any, times that he’s ever put his shoes on and we walked out the door. It always takes a correction and extra time.

In fact, the first time I ever had him do his socks and shoes by himself, he blew me away. I tossed him his socks and said, “No, Lucas. You do.”

And he did. My guy crossed his leg like a little man and perfectly put his sock on. I was proud.

In an effort to show him that he was being trusted, I then walked away while he did the other. In my head, I thought I had built a bridge of understanding. Over in the kitchen, I was patting myself on the back for a job well done. Scratch socks off the learning list.

And then I returned to find he had put his second sock on… over the sock on his first foot. For those keeping score, one foot had two socks and the other had none. It was like a nursery rhyme.

He looked up at me with his innocent face. I wanted to melt. There’s something really adorable about your child genuinely needing your help. Sure, I wish he could do things himself, and it breaks my heart that he might need assistance for the rest of his life. But it makes me feel important to know that my guy, in this moment, requires his dad to assist him. I have a superhero complex anyway. Let me save the day, kiddo.

But I shouldn’t. So I try not to.

Rather, I let him try again. When he makes a slight miscalculation, I might correct it. Maybe I’ll slide his sock around or pull the tongue out on the shoe, but I always make it understated. I congratulate him and repeat how he’s getting to be “such a big boy.”

He is, after all a big boy – an enormous boy. Lucas outweighs me and is inching up to me day by day. His patchy facial hair betrays his childlike aura. At 14, he’s a little man.

That’s why he needs to learn to do these things himself. One day, I won’t be there to help with this. The person who is might not be as patient as me. He needs to learn how to cover his feet.

He also needs to brush his own teeth, put on his own clothes, and a slew of other things that would be much easier for me to do for him. The name of the game is independence. Even if he never achieves it 100 percent, which is probable, he needs to know how to do as much as he can. That takes time.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say, “I have all the time in the world.”

But I don’t. Who has all the time in the world? I’m an adult. I’ve got bills to pay and children who need clothes. As Billy Joel would say, I know there’s fish out there, but where God only knows.

So every time I have to make the choice between time crunches and teaching my son independence, I have to make a judgment call. Nearly every time, I choose to teach rather than do.

I’m his dad. That’s what I have to do. In a perfect world, I would let him do it himself each and every time. In reality, sometimes that’s not possible. I allow myself those occasional slips. Sometimes it’s unavoidable.

But even when I slip, I remind myself that every small effort counts. Every sock, every shoe, every moment of letting go adds up to something bigger than either of us can see right now.

He’s learning to rely on himself. I’m learning to step back.

That’s the rhythm of our days, teaching him independence while still being his safety net. I won’t always get it right, and neither will he. But together, we’ll keep trying until the day comes when he no longer needs me to guide his hands.

And if that day never comes, I’ll never stop him from trying.