I Used to Watch Everyone Watching My Son

I’ve often “joked” that when my son was first being diagnosed with autism, my worry was that I would have to fight everyone.

Who? Everyone.

I mean that in all sincerity. People are cruel, and I grew up around plenty of cruel people. I know how most think. I know what most say. In my mind, it was only a matter of time before I had to elbow someone, right?

Wrong.

Some may credit autism awareness. Some might point to my son’s maturity. But me, I chalk it all up to one thing.

I don’t care what they think.

About what who thinks? Everyone.

That’s across the board, too. I don’t scan the crowd anymore when we’re out in public. There’s no need to scope the scene for stares. It is what it is, and people are who they are.

The only things I care about in these situations are Lucas and those in his immediate vicinity. I make sure he doesn’t bump into people or cause a commotion when there’s an expectation of silence. Other than that, we’re good to go.

That said, if someone approaches me with a question about Lucas, I always try to answer. Ten times out of ten, the question is usually innocuous. It’s my chance to spread some awareness. I welcome it.

But even if the question is somewhat offensive, I listen. I make sure to correct them or say, “Oh, that’s not entirely true.” But ultimately, guess what? I don’t care.

Like I mentioned earlier, I know some people can be cruel, whether in words or thoughts. I accept that. If that’s who you are, that’s your problem. Not mine. I’m good. I’m focused on other things.

This is an issue online, too. Trolls in the comments? Mean-spirited messages for the sake of being mean-spirited? I get them all.

Once upon a time, they would have made me angry.

Sometime after that, when I became “enlightened,” I felt sorry for them.

Today? I don’t care. I delete. I block. I go about my day.

To me, a person who would ridicule someone like Lucas or look at him with anything less than a kind eye probably does that with everyone. I can say this with confidence because my son bothers no one. If you have an issue with him, that says a whole lot more about you than it ever will about him.

There’s a reason why my acceptance and eventual apathy toward negative thoughts about my boy had to evolve. It was a three-step process from anger to pity to whatever. One person taught me that over time.

Lucas.

My nonverbal son taught me that. Lucas doesn’t seem to give the opinions of others a second thought.

And he’s literally the happiest person I’ve ever met.

So, I try to emulate that.

If the spirit gets into my boy’s boots, he hops and claps in the middle of Target. Do people look? Maybe. He doesn’t care.

I don’t either. The irony is that, on the rare occasions that I do look around, people are either not looking or they’re smiling. It’s amazing how little you care about what people think of you when you realize how seldom they actually do.

My son doesn’t gravitate to shows or toys because kids at school like them. You can give him all the money in the world, and he will skip off to play with the same Jack-in-the-Box he’s had since he was five. In a sentence, Lucas doesn’t play the games that others do.

He’s not even aware that there is a game to be played.

For the longest time, I thought it was my job to protect his outlook on the world. I wanted to shield him from every stare, every judgment, every unkind thought. Eventually, I realized I was fighting battles he didn’t even know existed.

Nothing can shake my boy’s spirit. Stare at him from across the Panera. Chances are, he will smile at you and hold his iPad to his ear. My guy doesn’t care at all.

So I follow his lead. It’s not my job to change the world through force. It’s not even my job to change the world through gentle stories.

It’s not my job to change the world at all.

All I can do is focus on those who are important to me. The rest of the planet will see our happiness and follow suit.

Or not. I don’t care.

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