The Quiet Curriculum: Eighteen Years of Learning from My Autistic Son

Lesson 1

“Don’t give up dad”

I’ll be the first to admit, that sounds like a sentimental Hollywood line. When hearing it at bedside from your barely verbal 6-year-old son, after a particularly difficult day filled with the anxieties of one sensory meltdown after the other, it cut right to the bone.

For a diagnosed autistic kid with a tested IQ of 55, that piece of communication displayed a clear understanding of the situation. It was Rover’s surprisingly lucid response to my comment “It must have been a difficult day for you”.

His sentence had many layers of meaning but to me it mostly said: I know it’s also tough on you, but I need your help. It was the first time in his life he had used language like that. I felt my throat tighten instantly.

Don't give up. That's lesson number one. And maybe the foundation of all the lessons that follow.

Maybe you just received the diagnosis. You're sitting in your car in the parking lot, or at the kitchen table after the kids went to bed, wondering how you're going to do this. You don't have a clue. Neither did I.

Maybe your child doesn't speak. Or speaks, but not to you. Maybe you're lying awake asking questions that have no answers yet. Will he make friends? Will she ever live on her own? Will they be okay when I'm gone?

I know.

Here's what I can tell you years later: you will find a way. Not because you're special, but because you don't quit. Some days that means moving mountains. Other days it just means getting through another night of little sleep - and your child isn't three, he's eighteen. Both count.

And here's what no one told me at the start. This journey will break you open, yes, but it will also fill you with a richness you can't imagine right now. A different kind of parenting. A reservoir of patience you didn't know you had. That's what these lessons are about.

Not a manual. Not advice from an expert. Just what one father learned from his son.

This is for the parents who just got the diagnosis and need to know they're not alone. For the grandparents trying to understand. For the friends who don't know what to say. And for anyone curious about what life looks like on the other side of normal.

But back to that night.

As Hollywood as this little bedside conversation started, it also ended. After a few deep breaths, swallowing hard, I was able to mumble "Never, Rover" and tucked him in.

Let's begin.