The Boy Who Taught a Writer That Words Aren’t Everything

I talk too much.

It’s something I can feel in the moment. Someone will ask me how I’m doing and, the next thing I know, I’m recanting some story about shopping, the price of salmon at ShopRite, and quoting old Mr. Belvedere episodes. It’s a whole thing.

To me, words were always the most important thing you can have. It’s why I write and do speaking events. It’s the reason behind the podcasts and books. It’s the basis for all I do. I want to explain my thoughts in ways others can understand.

The desire to be understood goes beyond that. I see words as artistic building blocks. There’s beauty in unveiling a surprise aspect of a story slowly. There’s poetry in how we phrase things. There’s a deeper reason for choosing to say what we say and how we say it. It’s a piece of art that we all engage with every single day. Like looking up at the beautiful sky that’s always above us, it’s something you don’t appreciate unless you look directly at it.

And then came Lucas.

To say my son turned my world on its ear would be an understatement. A writer with a nonverbal son is like the Road Runner having a child that always wants to take a seat. My boy, on paper, is my polar opposite.

Not only does Lucas not unveil his stories in a way that creates mystery and intrigue, he doesn’t tell you his stories at all. He says nothing.

In many ways, that’s my personal nightmare. My whole life has been a mad dash to make sure others know where I am coming from. It’s prolonged many a dead relationship because of my need to “just say one last thing.”

And here’s Lucas. He not only doesn’t work to be understood, but he doesn’t even try sometimes. Sure, he will insist on food and needs. But that’s it. He doesn’t explain himself to anyone. His motivations, true intentions, or deeper thoughts are all his own.

Yet, the world keeps spinning.

That blows me away. Here’s my son with, what many see as, a “disability,” allowing the world to think what it wants, never correcting the narrative, and somehow he’s just fine. He doesn’t bother with what others believe and, because of that, their opinions never seem to affect him.

And that is something that I still try to wrap my head around.

When I say I admire my boy, I mean it. Many can’t see past the profound autism, missing milestones, or different way of communication. To me, I see a person who approaches life from a point of view that I only wish I could.

To those who say, “You can live like that too,” I can’t. My life is so wrapped up in language that I wouldn’t last five minutes. It’s not how I’m wired. It’s not how I get things done.

I have a need to explain myself and know that others “get it.” I spend so much time putting words to the unspeakable. I want you to know what I’m thinking and how I see the world.

This all leads to the biggest loop imaginable. It’s the basis of everything I do here.

My son has proven that the words I hold so dear aren’t needed, in the way I use them, in order to live among others. There are ways to be who you are, make your points, and evoke love from those around you without uttering a word. Watching Lucas do this is one of the most mesmerizing experiences I could ever imagine.

Do you know who doesn’t realize how amazing that is? Most people.

I try to tell them and their faces would morph halfway through the story. The lips would drop. The eyebrows would raise. The expression of sympathy would wash over their faces. My heartwarming story was sad to them and, once I saw them react, it was sad to me too. They can’t see past the things he doesn’t do in order to appreciate what he does.

So I write my stories down for others to consume. Those making boo-boo faces at these posts do so behind their own screens. They have no choice but to finish the narrative and see that, by the end, it’s all good.

In essence, I am using my abundance of words to describe to you the unexplainable beauty behind a boy who doesn’t speak any words at all.

Just as I mentioned up front, there’s a poetic spin to all of this. There’s art in my words, but there’s art in what Lucas does too. It has been the most eye-opening relationship I’ve ever had with anyone in my life.

Forming words to illustrate the power of using no words feels like trying to paint a picture of a sunrise for someone who has never left the dark. These posts, my work, and all we do are built on what feels like a paradox.

Yet, it works. The same way we do. We support each other, hand in hand. I use my gifts to tell the world about his. He offers me love without needing a long-winded explanation. Lucas gets no Mr. Belvedere references. He doesn’t need long-winded responses. He simply gives me the love that I sometimes try to talk the world into giving me. I’m judged by my actions. He returns the love he receives, not the love he’s promised.

You have no idea how freeing that can be and how special this boy is. Thankfully, I’ll do my part to explain it every chance I get. It’s my mission and my passion. I could write a million words and it might never be enough to properly describe how wonderful it is to know a boy who uses none.

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