Parenting
“Ethan. Ethan has autism,” my ten-year-old son, Lucas, declared one sunny afternoon. We had just finished gathering blueberries, and I glanced over at my five-year-old, who was testing the fit of a berry in his nostril. I turned back to Lucas.
“I can understand why you might think that,” I replied thoughtfully. “But he doesn’t have a diagnosis of autism.”
“Who else? Who else has it? Like me.”
“Well, many people have autism, Lucas.”
“WHO?”
What should I say? I could share the statistics with him. I could explain, “Listen, buddy, one in eighty-eight children is diagnosed now, which means there are countless others out there just like you—those who may see Wednesday as orange or can recall what the eye doctor wore six months ago.” But that wouldn’t resonate with him.
Instead, I try to highlight the positive aspects of autism; his remarkable memory, his kindness, his determination, and his growth. Yet, it barely eases the palpable loneliness he feels, the isolation of being the only one in his family, in his class, perhaps even in the world diagnosed with this condition.
It’s like I’m saying this to him:
“Lucas, you are a magnificent unicorn among ordinary horses. You are so unique! We know there are many like you—countless, even—but we can’t seem to show you where they all are. And magical unicorn? We don’t quite understand you. Your vibrant beauty dazzles us, but your outbursts frighten us. Perhaps it would be easier if you were a regular horse, like the rest of us. Then we could figure out how to teach you about numbers.”
When I began writing my blog, I didn’t have a clear plan. Over two years later, I realize I was also seeking connection, a way to feel less isolated. From the comfort of my small office, I could share my struggles, make light of my experiences, and connect with others navigating the challenges of autism and parenting. If a bit of awareness about autism came with it, that was just a bonus.
But in the end, I feel I’ve fallen short. While I’ve found a broader community of people, the boy in the next room—the boy with autism—still feels confused, scared, and ashamed. He feels all alone.
So, I reached out to my readers on social media, asking for help in showing my son that yes, there are many like him; individuals who create beautiful music, hold jobs, love going to the movies, and enjoy ice cream after dinner. The response was overwhelming.
“Hey, Lucas! This is my son, also named Lucas. He has autism. He’s seven years old. Though his social skills are considered ‘very poor,’ you’ll never meet someone who can light up a room like him. You are not alone, my friend.”
“Hello, Lucas! This is my 15-year-old grandson, who also has autism. He truly is the wonderful unicorn in my life.”
I could see Lucas in these messages. I could see myself. I absorbed the hope, love, and shared experiences.
“I have a son who is 14 and has autism. As a father, I dreamt of teaching him sports, but instead, I embrace his brilliant mind, his humor, his kindness. My job is to ensure Vinny lives his best life.” Friends from high school reconnected. Old colleagues reached out, and one mother shared her quiet child’s radiant smile.
“Hi Lucas, My son has autism. He’s six. He doesn’t speak, but his smile lights up any room…just like yours.” Teachers across the country chimed in.
“I’ve taught several students with autism, and each has changed my life in some way.” From Minnesota to California, the messages poured in.
“Hi Lucas! Guess what? I have twin sons with autism. They’re 13 and live in Iowa. One loves swimming and elevators; the other has a fantastic memory and plays the trombone with perfect pitch.”
One evening, we read a message from a family in the Netherlands while dining at our favorite Mexican restaurant. Lucas’s face broke into a slow smile as he declared, “Amsterdam is the capital of the Netherlands.”
“My younger son is autistic. He is eight and loves soccer and everything Minecraft. He’s kind, loving, and so much fun. We live in Iceland. You are not alone!” A few bravely shared their own stories.
“I have autism. I’ve built a successful life despite my challenges. I’m 25 now, and I love who I am. He is most definitely not alone.” Throughout the week, Lucas asked for my phone to read the comments. Each time, his face radiated joy.
“My beautiful 11-year-old has Autism and ADHD. She also feels alone, even in a crowd.” If I’ve learned anything, it’s that autism encompasses a wide range of experiences. Sometimes it touches multiple family members; other times, it selects an individual.
“I have two wonderful boys on the spectrum. Autism is just one part of who they are, like having brown eyes or blonde hair.”
One morning, while I was at my laptop reading emails, Lucas hovered nearby, hoping for something on iTunes. Yet again, he was drawn into the Facebook thread, captivated by the pictures and stories of other children, grandchildren, and friends. Suddenly, he paused.
“Joe. Thompson,” he murmured. “That’s Dad.” I squinted at the screen and discovered this message at the bottom of the thread:
“Hi Lucas. My son has autism, and I have loved him since the day he was born.”
I had thought “bajillion” was just a whimsical way to express the volume of replies to a simple blog post. But I was mistaken. It’s not merely a number. A bajillion represents confusion and fear, golden retrievers named Max, boys from Michigan, and girls from Utah. It embodies a 13-year-old with perfect pitch.
It’s about the challenges, the disappointments, the grace, and the unity. It’s about sitting across the dinner table every night, sharing the same pit in your stomach while your son screams and thrashes because the squash is too yellow. It’s Disney movies, extraordinary memories, and the unique gifts of amazing people. A bajillion is both vast and small, encompassing a wide range of experiences. But sometimes, it’s simply two brothers sliding down autism’s curve together, laughing beneath a bright blue sky.
This article was initially published on May 23, 2014.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, a mother navigates her son Lucas’s feelings of loneliness regarding his autism diagnosis. Despite connecting with a broader community through her blog, she learns that her son still feels isolated. She reaches out to others for support, discovering a wealth of shared experiences and encouragement that brings joy to Lucas. The piece emphasizes the uniqueness of each individual with autism while highlighting the importance of understanding and connection.