Once My Nonverbal Son Trusted Me, Everything Changed

When you have a child with nonverbal autism, you get asked a common question from professionals, friends, and teachers.

What do you want him to learn?

The standard answers are language, life skills, and patience. Maybe you have additional ones, but I’ve found that those are the main three.

Well, to be honest, when Lucas was little, the three for us were language, language, and language.

It took a while to truly understand what “language” means. My boy doesn’t need to speak words or recite poetry. He simply needs to understand what I’m communicating to him and be able to communicate what he needs. Everything after that, for us, is gravy.

The most important thing for him to learn, I’ve learned, was trust. Once my son trusted me, everything changed.

His meltdowns let up. Unlike many others on the spectrum, my boy doesn’t really have sensory meltdowns. He doesn’t get overwhelmed by sounds, smells, or lighting. I’ve seen him fall asleep on roller coasters and beneath fireworks. I kid you not. He wasn’t feeling Disney.

No, Lucas’s meltdowns, when they happened, seemed to stem from his personal worry that his needs wouldn’t be met.

At times, I could telegraph them.

If hunger was creeping in, he’d slowly whine until he sat down and started bawling. It felt like a mystery until the day it wasn’t.

We were going to a restaurant, on a whim, and pulled into the parking lot. I knew he wanted food and, as we approached the door, we saw that they were still cleaning up from breakfast. Lunch would be another hour away. So we started leaving.

I knew why. His sister knew why. The staff knew why. Everyone knew why we were suddenly heading back to the car. Everyone except Lucas.

With that, he sat down on the ground right outside the front door and started crying.

In that moment, I got it. I understood. He thought we were skipping food. He couldn’t understand why we would walk away from a free bread basket.

So I sat next to him. I rubbed his back like an old friend who just went through his cheating partner’s phone. I spoke softly and, with what little words I was sure he knew, I tried to tell him.

You want to eat, right?

He looked at me through tears. His expression said, “Yes. Eat.”

That’s when I broke into pantomime. I did the eating motion with my hand to my mouth. I did the wait motion with my outstretched palm. I did the after motion like a rainbow in the air. He got it and, despite a whine or two, got into the car. He ate good that day.

It was never mysterious. It just took a while for me to understand.

Same thing with going into a house or business. If I could go back in time and tell myself I figured this out, I’d jump for joy.

My son had long dealt with more mysterious outbursts. Food was easy to decipher. The following few, which were more related than they appeared, were the advanced problems.

Lucas would cry sometimes when turning into a parking lot. He did the same thing with aisles in the supermarket.

Sounds somewhat linked? They are. Let me throw in the third one that, until a year or two ago, had always been unexplainable.

Lucas wouldn’t trick or treat.

You mean he wouldn’t hold out his bag for candy?

No. I mean Lucas wouldn’t take one step from his wagon to a front door… any door. The moment we started to get him out, he’d drop to the ground and howl as if he was being water-boarded. It was painful.

The answer? He didn’t know where we were going and, in many cases, he just wanted to go home.

Pulling into a parking lot was just another stop he didn’t want to take. Walking down an aisle that, upon turning the corner, didn’t lead to the parking lot caused anxiety. Walking up to a stranger’s house was another long and boring visit. He didn’t want any of that.

It bothered him, and the inability to explain that only made things worse.

Just a few years ago, we broke that code with strong preparation. Ahead of a birthday party for one of his classmates, I made sure he knew we were doing something fun. I might not have had all the words to tell him, but I did my best. What followed was a great experience and a fun celebration. It was the most mature he had ever been up to then.

He learned to trust me. He learned to trust that he would be fed when he was hungry. He learned to trust that if we left a restaurant without eating, we were still going to eat. He learned to trust that the supermarket wouldn’t take forever and that every new building we walked into wasn’t the dentist’s office. He learned that Dad has his back and always will.

This took time and observations from both of us. It took exposure to the very activities that others might have avoided in my position. If the only time I ever took him out was when necessary to avoid tantrums, he would assume we were always going to the doctor. Like haircuts, staying away only made it harder.

And that’s how we got to where we are today. It’s how he sits with me for oil changes. It’s how I can bring him into cramped thrift stores. It’s how he’s by my side for so many things that I once would have found incredibly difficult.

In the end, the biggest thing my son learned wasn’t language.

It was that I wasn’t going to leave him confused and alone in a world he didn’t fully understand.

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