“Oliver. Oliver has autism,” my ten-year-old son, Max, declared one sunny afternoon. We had just finished a fun day of berry picking, and I glanced over at my five-year-old, who was attempting to see if a blueberry would fit inside his nostril. I turned back to Max.
“I understand why you might think that,” I replied thoughtfully. “But he doesn’t actually have a diagnosis of autism.”
“Who else? Who else has it? Like me.”
“Well, there are many people who have autism, Max.”
“WHO?”
What should I say? I could dive into statistics and say, “Listen, Max, one in eighty-eight kids is diagnosed with autism, which means there are literally a million people like you—those who see Wednesday as orange and recall what their doctor wore six months ago.” But that wouldn’t resonate with him.
Instead, I focus on the positive aspects of autism: his incredible memory, his kindness, his determination, and the progress he’s made. Yet, that doesn’t ease the loneliness he feels, being the only one in his family, his class, or perhaps even the world who has this diagnosis.
It’s as if I’m saying this to him:
“Max, you’re a magnificent unicorn among ordinary horses. You are truly special! We know there are many of you out there—millions, even—but we just can’t find them. And, oh magical unicorn? We don’t fully understand you. Your vibrant beauty dazzles us, but your meltdowns can be overwhelming. Honestly, wouldn’t it be easier if you were just a regular horse like everyone else? Then we could teach you fractions without a hitch.”
When I began writing my blog, I didn’t have a specific plan or purpose. Over two years later, I realize I did it to feel less isolated. From my cozy office, I could express my heartaches, share my humor, and connect with others navigating the world of autism, parenting, and everyday life. If I could raise a bit of autism awareness along the way, that would be a bonus.
But in some ways, I feel I’ve failed. While I’ve connected with a broader community, the boy in the next room—the one with autism—still feels confused, frightened, and ashamed.
He feels alone.
So, I turned to my readers on social media, asking them to help show my son that yes, there are millions of others like him—people who create beautiful music, have jobs, enjoy movies, and love ice cream after dinner. I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of responses.
“Hey, Max. This is my son, also named Max. He has autism and is seven. His social skills might be ‘very poor,’ but he lights up any room! You’re not alone, friend.”
“Hi, Max! This is my 15-year-old grandson, who also has autism. He’s the most wonderful unicorn in my world.”
I could see Max in their words. I recognized myself, too. I inhaled the hope, the encouragement, the love, and the pain.
“I have a 14-year-old son with autism. I’m an athletic dad, and like most fathers, I anticipated teaching him sports, which hasn’t happened. What I can do is appreciate his brilliant mind, sense of humor, and kind heart. My mission is to ensure Vinny leads the best life he can.”
Old school friends reconnected, and previous colleagues reached out, while one mother shared her child’s radiant smile.
“Hi, Max. My son has autism. He’s six and doesn’t speak much, but his smile lights up any room…just like yours.”
Educators from across the country chimed in.
“I’ve taught several students with autism, and each has transformed my life in their own way.”
From Minnesota to New Jersey, Oregon to California.
“Hi, Max! Guess what? I have twins with autism, both 13! One loves swimming and elevators, while the other has an amazing memory, sings perfectly, and plays the trombone.”
One evening, we read a message from a family in the Netherlands over dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant. Max’s face brightened as he said, “Amsterdam is the capital of the Netherlands.”
“My son is autistic, eight years old, loves soccer, and is obsessed with Minecraft. He’s kind, loving, and so much fun! We live in Iceland. You’re not alone!”
A few bravely opened up about their own journeys.
“I have autism. I’ve built a successful life despite my challenges. I’m 25 now, and I love who I am. Max is definitely not alone.”
Throughout the week, Max often asked to borrow my phone to read the comments. Each time, his face would light up.
“My amazing 11-year-old daughter has autism and ADHD. She also feels alone, even when she’s surrounded by friends.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that autism encompasses a vast and varied spectrum. Sometimes it selects more than one child from a family, while other times it picks just one.
“I have two incredible boys on the spectrum. Autism is just one aspect of who they are, like having brown eyes or freckles.”
One morning, while I was at my laptop reading emails, Max hovered nearby, hoping for ITunes. Yet again, he was drawn into the Facebook thread, captivated by pictures and descriptions of other children—daughters, sons, students, and friends.
Then he paused, taking a breath.
“Joe. Hartman,” he whispered. “That’s Dad.”
I squinted at the screen and noticed a comment at the bottom of the thread: “Hi Max. My son has autism, and I have loved you since the day you were born.”
I used to think “million” was just a playful way to describe the number of replies to a blog post. I was mistaken. It’s not just a number.
A million represents confusion, fear, and golden retrievers named Scooby. It includes boys from Michigan, girls from Utah, and a 13-year-old with perfect pitch.
It encompasses rage, disappointment, grace, and togetherness. It’s the nightly struggle at the dinner table, facing the same pit in your stomach while your son screams because the squash is “too yellow, too yellow, too yellow.” It holds Disney movies, incredible memories, and the unique gifts of extraordinary individuals.
A million is both vast and small. Some days, it’s simply two brothers sliding down the slippery slope of autism together, laughing and having fun beneath a bright blue sky.
This article was originally published on May 23, 2014.
For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out our other posts, like this one about intrauterine insemination, or learn about the at-home insemination kit that can help you on your journey. For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, the NHS provides excellent resources.
In summary, the journey of parenting a child with autism is filled with challenges and triumphs, connection and loneliness. By reaching out to others, we discover that we are not alone, and the community of support can help transform fear into hope.