What My Nonverbal Son’s 15th Birthday Taught Me About Letting Go of Expectations

My son is officially 15 years old. He looks the part. My little man is becoming a regular-sized man right before my eyes.

The festivities were exciting enough for a celebration but understated enough for my non-verbal little guy. As a boy with profound autism, Lucas doesn’t celebrate in the ways everyone else does. Many can’t-miss moments can definitely be missed in execution.

The things we do, from pictures taken to presents given, are all tailored to him. Through trial and error, I’ve learned what works and what doesn’t. I’ve also discovered that his tastes, abilities, and expectations evolve over time.

I was happy with the outcome and so was Lucas. It was a banner birthday, one that came without drama or that overwhelming sense of…well, overwhelm that comes with events like these.

Today, his birthdays are milestone moments. They’re times when we take a good look at him and wrap our heads around his growth and maturity. I take notice of things we do now that, even a few years ago, would have been impossible.

Out to lunch? Leave the iPad in the car. At one time, that would have been impossible. Then, when it became possible, it was fraught with fighting and hollering on the way into the building. Today, he leaves it there without question and patiently awaits his food. It’s one of those maturity signs we look for.

Things like that are part of our life. Lucas continues to push forward and show us what he’s capable of. I’m proud of him far more often than not.

That said, birthdays used to hit much differently. There was a time when they were nothing like this.

As the parent of a non-verbal boy, I can tell you that these days used to be less about milestones and more about missed deadlines. They were a date I anticipated a year in advance. I did so during my yearly deal-making sessions with God.

Next birthday, I would plead, please let him talk. I know he’s three now, but four? By four, he’ll surely talk. If not by then, then I can worry.

I’d spend the year working on speech and pushing for life skills to emerge. As March came closer, I’d get that pit in my stomach. I’d feel the date approaching, the day I told myself I could worry, coming down like impending doom.

There are a slew of old birthday pictures where I stand there with a painted-on smile. No one could see the turmoil inside my head, just the happy face on the outside. Every candle represented a year I had hung my hopes on, until the flame was blown out.

Birthdays were confusing, and trying to figure out how to celebrate “like everyone else” was nearly impossible. After all, the man of the hour didn’t celebrate like everyone else. Lucas wasn’t a party kid. He didn’t like opening presents. He wasn’t a fan of clowns or live entertainment. Aside from the eating and singing of Happy Birthday, an immediate favorite he picked up at the age of two, he didn’t care much for all that nonsense.

It took years to realize, as a parent, that things don’t need to be done in the traditional sense to make Lucas happy. It’s his day, and we need to celebrate it the way he wants. We don’t need a Mariachi band or a case of Corona. We need friends, family, food, and music. If my little guy has that, he’s happy.

A big part of that realization had to do with me too. When Lucas was little, those parties were done out of a personal need to feel like I was doing my job as a parent. They were also done in anticipation of all the questions from outsiders.

What are you doing for Lucas’s birthday?

Anything less than a preschool Lollapalooza felt like a dereliction of duties. Our friends, with their neurotypical kids, were bringing in bouncy castles and magicians. My kid didn’t even want to open gifts.

Because of that, many early celebrations felt like dinner theater for others. The host would paint on a smile. The birthday boy would ignore the events. The guests were the only ones genuinely at a party. The entire event was for them – not for Lucas and not for me.

The day I put all that away and focused on my boy first was the day everything changed. Suddenly, those milestones weren’t depressing. There was no misery over his lack of words or perceived disabilities. His special day became his special day in the most literal sense. Everything we did became about Lucas. It was as it should have been all along.

Expectations don’t work in our world, but it takes a few candles to figure that out. The scene you envision a year from now might look nothing like you expect. If I’ve learned anything through the years, it’s that birthdays aren’t about what we hoped for. They’re about seeing what’s already there.

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