My Nonverbal Son Can Be Such a Typical Teenager Sometimes

When I say that I don’t like to put a “mental age” on my nonverbal son, I know the reason people assume I don’t.

They think I find it demeaning or that I’m trying to force typical thinking into a non-typical situation. As is the case with a lot of autism appreciation topics here, there’s a belief that I’m just finding the silver lining. They think that I’m just using words to comfort myself.

All of those points of view have some validity to them. I do find giving Lucas a mental age demeaning. After all, he’s 15. To say that he’s “really four” or whatever people do to wrap a son like mine into an easily digestible label would come off as a bit degrading.

But that’s not why I don’t say that my boy, with profound autism, isn’t “really” a teenager.

That’s because he really is a teenager.

Again, the assumptions follow. Again, I’m playing semantics, right?

“Yes, James. We get it. He’s chronologically fifteen years old.”

Again, true. Again, only part of the story.

Look, I know neurotypical teenagers. My daughter is one and, although she only has two years left in that age range, Olivia has illustrated what teens do.

Her brother, in many ways, resembles that behavior.

Let me give you an example. Lucas has gestures that we use to communicate. Between pointing to pictures, his communication device, instinct, and simply leading me to whatever he wants by the hand, Lucas finds ways to be understood.

Some of our best gestures are “more” (two fists together), “wait” (palm up and out), “eat” (hand to the mouth)…

Actually, hand-to-the-mouth is more than “eat.” It’s become a catch-all for him. Whenever he’s stuck for a word or desperate to get a point across, he will tap his mouth. It can mean “yes” or it can mean “stop.” It can mean anything. We go back and forth like that until, frustrated, I get his device to make things clearer.

Oh…and he uses that motion for another thing. He uses it to yell at me.

“Yell?”

Yes, yell. How? Allow me to explain.

The other night, he was lying in his bed and swiping away on YouTube Kids. I came in and attempted to sit down beside him. He wasn’t having it.

My sweet little fella put his arm out and began pushing me away from his bed. It wasn’t violent, but it was firm. He didn’t want to be bothered.

You want me to go?

To this, he tapped his mouth. In this case, I took it for “yes.”

Jokingly, I acted sad, which has no effect on him…ever. He kept tapping his mouth, and it got faster. He was literally vibrating his hand against his lips. It was fast and furious.

If he had words in that moment, it would have sounded something like this:

“Get out! Get out! Get out of my room! Go! Go!”

As I backed up, he kept eye contact and kept tapping. Once I reached the threshold, his motion changed to a hand in the air making a grabbing motion. One might think he’s waving in that instance.

He’s not. It’s his motion for “close the gate on my room.”

That baby gate, originally intended to keep him out of late-night danger, has become the symbolic door to his room. When he wants it closed, he means it.

So, I snapped the gate shut, and he kept eye contact as I reached over and slowly closed the door. I could see him looking at me until it fully closed.

Dad had been sent away.

My teenage son didn’t want to be bothered.

It doesn’t get much more teenage than that.

This is not a person who is “mentally six.” This is a young man who might have tastes below his “age range,” but he’s still a young man.

He has stubbly facial hair. He’s gigantic with furry legs. I don’t think claiming he’s “really” ten years younger would make a difference.

I keep thinking back to the first time his care manager came over. We were setting up Lucas’s life plan as he sat at the table swiping on his iPad.

Our care manager is a pretty young woman with a calm demeanor. Lucas senses calm.

Lucas also senses pretty young women.

As he got up from the table to go skipping through the house with his device, he made sure to give her a kiss on the cheek.

It was sweet. Aw.

Soon he returned to the table, but was up again within a minute. Again, she got a kiss on the cheek. This happened about five times within ten minutes. She asked about it.

“That is so sweet. Does he do that with everyone?”

With an upturned eyebrow, I replied.

No. He doesn’t.

Seriously. I once dated a woman he wouldn’t even hug. Lucas is loving when he wants to be. That’s why I value every showing of love that I get.

This newcomer was getting the star treatment.

After a few more times, I finally had to say, “Hey, GQ Casanova. Let’s ease up on the love for our guest.”

This isn’t a baby. This isn’t an elementary school kid. This isn’t someone who is “mentally six.”

Lucas is 15.

He might watch things meant for younger kids. He might communicate in ways that look different. He might need my help with things other teenagers don’t.

But he also wants his dad to get out of his room. He notices pretty girls. He grows facial hair. He decides when he wants affection and, more importantly, when he doesn’t.

He’s not a little boy trapped inside a teenager’s body.

He’s my teenage son.

And the older he gets, the more he finds ways to remind me of that.

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