People Think Having a Nonverbal Teenager Is the Hardest Age. They Couldn’t Be More Wrong.

I am the father of a 15-year-old nonverbal boy with profound autism. He has facial hair growing in thicker by the day, is barely an inch shorter than his old man, and outweighs me by at least 20 pounds.

Knowing this, parents of young children with autism will look at my life and think, “Wow. That’s the hard part.”

It makes sense. After all, this is the scenario they’re dreading. They see how hard it is to contain a semi-miniature Tasmanian Devil. They can’t imagine what the world must be like for someone in my position.

Yup. Having a 15-year-old with profound autism must be the hard part.

Right?

No. It’s not.

To the parents of a young child with early and emerging signs of autism, I say this. It should both make you feel better and make you feel worse all at once.

The part you’re at is the hard part.

Physically? Yes. It’s a bit tougher when you have a giant boy who sometimes plants his feet into the ground like a fencepost and refuses to walk into the supermarket. I’ve had to abandon plans because Lucas is no longer at the age where I can simply toss him into a cart and feed him cookies until the shopping is done. Those days are over.

When my massive little fella doesn’t want to walk, he often doesn’t walk.

Sure, I can coax him into it and, in some cases, even give him an old-school wrestling underhook and lead him down the cereal aisle. The years of tossing him over my head like an Anatoly prank video are sort of out the window.

So yes, physically, it’s harder.

I’m not talking about the physical toll, though. I’m talking mentally. I’m talking emotionally. I’m talking about the profound effect that his profound autism has on my world.

This is who Lucas is. Lucas doesn’t talk, and many things that parents stopped doing for their children in the toddler years are still on our daily agenda. I know who my boy is and, yes, at times he can be a handful.

But I know what our lives consist of. I know what’s expected of me.

Even the unknown on the horizon is clearer. Sure, I don’t know when, or if, he might find himself in a group living situation. His grown-up years are still a bit hazy, but I know who he is. So those visions, while still mysterious, are easier to picture.

I know what he will most likely look like in adulthood. I can guess what skill levels he might reach. I know his possibilities. I know his deficits.

I know my guy.

When he was five? I knew nothing.

Nothing.

Every day was a confusing haze of discovery that always erred on the side of disappointment. Mind you, I wasn’t disappointed in him.

I was disappointed in me. Every. Single. Day.

I beat myself up with guilt for contributing to his difficult life. He never asked to be born. I made him. Now he’s here and, from all I knew about autism, he was suffering. I believed that in my heart.

Other parents believe it too. Whenever I write a blog about how happy Lucas is and how he’s not suffering, there is usually a mom or dad of a younger child on the spectrum who comments that their child is “absolutely suffering from autism.”

While I don’t agree, I don’t argue for two reasons. One, I don’t know their kid. But two, I know the mentality that parent has during that stage. I know because I once had it too.

It felt like he was suffering when Lucas was little. That’s because my assumption was that he wanted to do all the things he couldn’t. He didn’t understand football or social interactions. He couldn’t sit still or enjoy functions. He was missing out, and my heart broke for him.

Years later, I can tell you that my son isn’t missing anything. Does he like football or social interactions? Nope. Does he do these things, in many cases, to appease me when asked?

Yup.

Why?

Because he loves me.

And that part right there might be what makes this time period so much easier than it was then.

I know my nonverbal son loves me.

This isn’t guesswork. This isn’t a shrug of the shoulders and an “in his own way” add-on. No. I know it.

When he was five, I didn’t.

Heck, when he was ten, I still wasn’t sure. Following my divorce, I wrote a blog about how I wasn’t sure he missed me during our time apart. I genuinely had no idea.

I knew I loved him. I was aware of all I would do to make his life easier. I knew that no amount of paperwork was too much. No school meetings could be missed. When they told me they struggled to get him to pay attention in the afternoon, I pulled him from full school days and brought in tutors to catch him up until he was ready to return. Nothing was ever too much to ask for my son.

It wasn’t until years later that he started to become more forthcoming with his emotional ties to me and others. That’s where we are now. Constant kisses and hugs fill our lives.

I know my boy loves me.

Was it easier to get him up to bed when I could scoop him up like a Cabbage Patch Doll? Sure.

Mentally, was it easier navigating a world where his murky future was clouded with professionals shrugging and suggesting that, “Anything can happen?”

Not at all.

So, to you, the parent with a four-, five-, six-, or seven-year-old struggling through obstacles right now, know this.

It gets better.

That scary future you can’t even imagine? It’s nothing like you’re picturing.

The real fear is the unknown.

One day, you’ll know your child the way I know mine.

And you’ll wonder why you were ever so afraid.

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