Every morning, like clockwork, I drop off my son Alex at school. The routine is seamless: drive in from the north, pull around to the back entrance, and school staff welcome you at the car with cheerful farewells like, “Have a fabulous day! Love ya!” Then, it’s a quick exit out the west side. It takes just a few minutes, tops.
But today was different. I found myself waiting. In front of me was a sleek German car (because autism doesn’t play favorites), and a dad leaning into the backseat. After a few moments, it was clear that his son wasn’t going anywhere. A male teacher arrived to help, and together they managed to coax the visibly resistant child out of the car, heading toward the school doors. This kid was big—probably around ten, but he looked like he could take on an adult.
Halfway to the entrance, the child suddenly bolted. The teacher held him back, and in the ensuing struggle, they both ended up on the ground. Another male staff member rushed out, and together they helped the kiddo back on his feet and into the school. It was clear these teachers were seasoned pros at handling such situations; they seemed unfazed, treating it like just another average day. To an outsider, this was a textbook example of managing a challenging student with autism.
But I wasn’t just any observer. I was sitting in my car with my 8-year-old son, and I felt as if I was peering into our future. If this child hadn’t been in a safe, understanding environment, he might have been perceived as a threat. People would be frightened.
And that, my friends, is the fear that follows me every day. It’s a heavy weight, a constant rush against time. Alex is certainly making progress—his eye contact, conversational skills, and short-term memory are improving. Those are milestones worth celebrating!
Yet, we still have a mountain to climb when it comes to his emotional regulation. The harsh truth? My son—my sweet, joyful boy who loves to sing and dance and is the first to offer a hug when someone is down—can also hit, kick, and throw a tantrum like a whirlwind when he’s frustrated or angry. I’m not talking about playful roughhousing either; this is the real deal.
Right now, the strategy is simple: when he’s upset, I can pick him up and move him to a calmer spot. But as he grows, that won’t be an option much longer. I need to connect with him, find solutions, or at least a quick fix for his anxiety. Time is not on my side, and I feel like I’m losing the race.
As the dad returned to his car, he glanced back at the line of parents waiting to drop off their kids. I waved. I’m not sure if he noticed, but it didn’t matter. I waved for myself, to say, “It’s okay! We understand! Oh boy, do we understand.” I wanted him to see that I wasn’t afraid of his son.
Because if our lives mirror this in a couple of years, I’m really going to need someone to wave back at me.
Further Reading
If you want to learn more about home insemination, check out this informative post on intracervical insemination. And if you’re looking for authoritative information, Make a Mom has great resources too. For further reading on pregnancy, visit the NICHD for excellent insights.
Conclusion
In summary, this piece reflects the daily struggles and fears faced by parents of children with autism, highlighting the importance of community understanding and support. It emphasizes the need for solutions to emotional regulation, while also touching on the universal challenges of parenting.