Announced by the clatter of a vintage typewriter, a text message from my wife illuminated my phone. The message contained photographic proof of a mission accomplished: our daughter’s ears were now pierced.

In the photo, she stood in profile, her hair pulled back, a tiny earring adorning her left lobe. A stud, crafted in the form of a red heart outlined in gold, glinted in the light.

When my daughter returned home, her face beaming with excitement, she rushed over to me.

“Daddy, I was so brave!”

“Yes, you certainly were, sweetie.”

Bravery has been a consistent theme of late with my daughter. It started this past spring when she expressed her desire to conquer the water by learning how to swim. This led to “Swim Girl Summer,” the name we gave the season in a nod to her weekly swim lessons.

But now, with her ear lobes properly punctured, our daughter has ushered in a new era: Fly Girl Fall.

‘Mommy, I’m ready to be brave.’

The seeds of this season were planted in the months leading up to her 9^th birthday in August.

My daughter dug through her avalanche of toys and trinkets to unearth a pair of purple clip-on earrings shaped like butterflies that a friend gifted her. She’d stopped wearing them months earlier, but was suddenly sporting them as if they were prized possessions. Her fascination with earrings reached a point where she started using a glue stick to affix pink beads to her earlobes—and proudly wearing them beyond the confines of our home.

Sometimes our children show us better than they can tell us. It was obvious she wanted her ears pierced.

My wife had postponed getting our daughter’s ears pierced when she was a baby. She feared the earrings might appear disproportionate to the size of our daughter’s head, an effect she humorously likened to resembling “Frankenstein.” And as our daughter grew older, we wondered if she could tolerate the piercing procedure and the subsequent healing period. But after my wife explained that getting her ears pierced may be uncomfortable, our daughter declared, “Mommy, I’m ready to be brave.”

So my wife scheduled the piercing appointment for the first Saturday in August as a birthday gift.

Reflection of child’s unique personality

As parents, we often find ourselves marking our children’s growth by traditional developmental milestones. We wait eagerly for them to take their first steps, say their first words, and lose their first tooth. These milestones are important, of course, but the true markers of growth aren’t confined to developmental timelines. They’re reflected in a child’s unique personality and the choices they make.

I came to see that my daughter’s desire for pierced ears was not just about keeping up with her friends or being like Mommy. It was an expression of her individuality.

Our daughter, who has autism, has always been a determined and independent spirit. “Self-directed” is how her developmental pediatrician once described her. From a young age, she approached challenges with the tenacity of a boxer, a trait that has always stuck with me because I was wearing a Muhammad Ali shirt the day she was born. Whether learning to tie her shoes or how to regulate her big emotions, she’s tackled each task in her own way. Getting her ears pierced was just another manifestation of her growing into her own person.

In a world that often fits children into predefined boxes, my daughter is beginning to forge her own path. It’s in the songs she chooses to sing, the books she chooses to read, and now, the earrings she chooses to wear.

Whenever I look at that photo of my daughter’s freshly pierced ears, I feel pride for the confident young girl she’s becoming. But also a touch of wistfulness for the days when she was small enough to cradle in my arms.

I replied to my wife’s text message with a heart emoji. The little red heart outlined in gold hanging from my daughter’s ear is not just an earring. It’s a symbol of her blossoming individuality, a reminder that she’s finding her own place in the world, one small choice at a time.

Photo contributed by the Briggs family.

Clad in a hot pink swim cap and matching goggles, my daughter waded into Lane Six of the pool. She grabbed a barbell-shaped floaty and pushed off. With assistance from an instructor, she attempted to flutter kick with her body extended like a mermaid.

Her legs flailed about, splashing water all over her instructor’s face. She weaved in and out of the lane like a drunk driver in traffic. This first swim lesson was a far cry from The Little Mermaid and more like The Little Engine That Could. Nevertheless, I cheered as if she were my own little Ariel.

Welcome to Swim Girl Summer. That’s been the seasonal moniker around our household ever since my daughter started swim lessons a month ago.

For months she’s hinted in a not-so-subtle way at her desire to conquer the water. Every time Wheel of Fortune flashed a vacation prize package with a brochure-worthy image of a resort with a pool on our TV, my daughter would ask, “Can we go to the beach and the pool, pleazzzze?” To which my wife would say, “Yes, but you need to learn how to swim first.”

Of course, that’s the response she was hoping for. We played right into her hands.

And we didn’t mind.

Drowning statistics spur swim lessons

Swim lessons are something we’ve wanted for her. It would give her another tool to help her navigate life. Giving our daughter, who is Black and autistic, the lifelong gift of swimming was not only a recreational nicety but also, to us, a matter of life and death.

Drowning is the leading cause of accidental death for autistic children of all ages. They face a higher risk of drowning due to a tendency to wander off, according to data from the National Library of Medicine. And when it comes to race, a study commissioned by the USA Swimming Foundation found more startling facts. Nearly 64 percent of Black children, 45 percent of Hispanic children and 40 percent of white children have no or low swimming ability, it found, putting them all at risk for drowning.

Our daughter first took swim lessons as a toddler at the local YMCA and learned water safety in between, but that seemed like eons ago compared to the sprouting 8-year-old she is now. With each new aquatic milestone, my daughter is swimming against the tide of those sobering statistics.

Sometimes you motor, sometimes you float

During her weekly swim lessons, my wife and I sit with other parents in a viewing area behind a large, glass-paneled wall looking out onto the pool. It’s like peering into a giant fishbowl full of kids — all ages, sizes and abilities — as they splish and splash in the shadow of a colorful mural that reads, “The Big Blue World.”

My daughter is always in Lane Six. From my vantage point, I’ve seen her confidence build as she taps her inner Michael Phelps. Sometimes she swims ahead of the other kids in her lane; other times, she stays behind. Sometimes she extends her arms in front of her; other times, they’re bent from fatigue. Her leg kicks are so powerful on occasion that she resembles a motorboat amid the shimmer and bubbles; then there are occasions when a leisurely cruise is just her speed. No matter what, she’s constantly moving forward.

It’s a bit surreal to watch my daughter both succeed and struggle from behind the glass. She can’t hear us, but we speak to her as if she can. (Good job, sweetie. Come on, push through. You got this.) She can see us, but doesn’t pay attention to us; she’s usually laser-focused on the instructor. But I know she feels us with her. She occasionally looks up from the pool with her big toothy grin and waves until we wave back.

There are moments in this Big Blue World when the father in me wants to rush to the other side and coach her. However, I know it’s best for my daughter to figure things out for herself. I won’t always be there.

Perhaps that’s my own lesson this Swim Girl Summer. As my daughter grows older, parenting will often feel like a never-ending toggle between knowing when to dive in and when to stay ashore. I just hope I’m preparing her enough to swim in the world beyond the pool.

All photos by Johnathon Briggs.

My daughter has never eaten a hamburger. Or pizza. Or chicken nuggets. In fact, she’s never had a smorgasbord of foods most 8-year-olds devour with abandon: grilled cheese, hot dogs, spaghetti, mac and cheese, and — my personal favorite — tacos. Who doesn’t love a good taco?

Oh sure, she may sniff, touch, and occasionally lick these foods. But to actually bite, chew, and swallow it? Well, that’s just asking too much.

My daughter is more than just a picky eater. She’s what feeding experts call a “resistant eater.” This means she eats just 10 to 15 foods (or fewer), limits her food groups (to mostly carbs), and often expresses disapproval, sometimes with a harrumph, over the presence of a new food on her plate.

This food fussiness stems from my daughter’s autism, which makes her uncomfortable with changes in routine. Adding to it is a sensory processing disorder (SPD), a neurological condition that causes difficulties with processing information from the five senses: taste, sight, touch, smell and hearing.

The SPD manifests as a preference for snacks with a crunchy texture and bold flavor. For her, these are smoked Gouda Triscuits, barbeque quinoa chips, cheddar Pringles, and, her mainstay, white cheddar popcorn. The autism appears as a need for certain foods to always be the same brand. I once bought my daughter SkinnyPop white cheddar popcorn instead of the usual Smartfood brand because it was on sale. When I pulled the popcorn from the grocery bag, she took one look at the unfamiliar green and white packaging and uttered, “No, Daddy.”

Fussy eating appears during solid food introduction

While there are no reliable statistics on the feeding and eating problems of autistic children, one widely reported study found they are five times more likely to face mealtime challenges — from narrow food selection to rigid eating behaviors — than their typically developing peers.

When my daughter was diagnosed as autistic in 2017, shortly before her third birthday, I focused less on what went into her mouth and more on what was coming out of it — hardly any discernible words. I didn’t know much about the connection between autism and eating habits.

My daughter’s unique palette and pickiness began to emerge at 6 months old. This was when my wife first introduced her to solid food: yogurt, apple sauce, assorted baby foods, cereal, pears (which always ended up on the floor), and even pico de gallo (she apparently liked the light kick of jalapeño).

There was the occasional bite of a pork chop here, a forkful of blueberry pancake there. But, as our daughter grew older, she never really took to eating a broad variety of foods. At 13 months she consistently drank milk from a sippy cup, and that was only after my wife successfully transitioned her from formula in a bottle — a change our daughter mightily resisted.

To ensure our daughter got the proper helping of nutrients, my wife started mixing the milk with varieties of Naked Juice, a brand of fruit and vegetable smoothies. That eventually evolved into a blend of Naked Juice and Greek yogurt (packed with protein and probiotics) for her school lunches. I jokingly refer to these smoothie blends as the “Elixir of Life” because without them I’m certain our daughter wouldn’t be thriving or hitting her growth and weight targets. In my daughter’s words, “Smoothies are very tasty at lunch and recess.”

Still, getting your child to eat shouldn’t be this complicated.

Strategies for combating a resistant eater

Doctors confirmed our daughter didn’t have swallowing or gastrointestinal issues, but that didn’t relieve my constant worry about her nutritional intake. Can she continue to thrive on such a limited diet? Am I packing enough food in her lunch box to last the school day? Will she ever outgrow these food aversions?

I reached out to my daughter’s therapists for tips and advice. Through them, I learned just how complicated the act of eating is. It involves 26 muscles, eight sensory systems, six cranial nerves to chew and swallow, and engages every organ in your body. As speech-language pathologist Judy McCrary Koeppen notes in The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism: “Eating is a multisensory experience. Each mouthful brings the possibility of a variety of flavors, textures, and temperatures.”

Whatever you do, they said, never withhold food or physically force a child to eat. That will only make things worse for a resistant eater, a picky eater or any child.

So we began with “food chaining.” You start with a child’s preferred food and gradually “chain” together similar foods with slight changes or variations until you get to the new food. For example, go from chips to crackers to crackers with a sweet topping to chocolate pudding. We did the best we could. Our lack of time and patience, though, caused us to abandon this tactic.

Then we tried bribery. Our daughter could earn iPad screen time if she tried a new food. It worked for a few weeks (I recall her taking bites of broccoli and salmon), but her motivation waned.

We knew consistency would be key to overcoming the limitations of our resistant eater. We worked with our daughter’s behavioral therapist to add a feeding component to her therapy sessions. Three times a week my wife and I pack a new (or less preferred) food for the therapist to try with our daughter. Eating is the goal, but touching and licking the food also counts as success.

Every time the therapist reports our daughter actually ate something new, I do a happy dance. So far she’s taken a liking to baby carrots, apple slices, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When you’re the parent of a resistant eater, you celebrate every victory, no matter how small.

Sharing a meal socially helps

My wife and I build on our daughter’s progress at home by offering her the same food we’re eating, even if we think she’ll refuse it.

My Italian sausage lasagna? Nope.

My wife’s savory beef chili? Declined.

One day my wife offered her rice with salted butter. She ate it and asked for it again later that month. The week before that, our daughter requested orange juice. My wife and I looked at each other with an expression that read, “Who’s child is this?”

With each bite of new food, our daughter is maturing as an eater. Just as some people are social drinkers, we’re learning our daughter is a social eater. She’s a bubbly chatterbox now and loves participating in occasions that involve food — birthday parties, holiday dinners, family outings. She just happens to bring her own smoothies and snacks to the table.

Last autumn a friend invited us over for dinner with his family. I warned him my daughter may not eat what was served. When the chicken lettuce wraps arrived at the table, to my amazement, she grabbed one and took a few bites before retreating to her snack tote. Months earlier, at a dinner party, she casually snacked on tortilla chips and mixed nuts like it was no big deal. But indeed, it was.

I used to think my daughter, as a resistant eater, was missing out on moments because she was missing out on the food. That’s because my own childhood memories are intertwined with the scents and tastes of dishes prepared with love. The gooey and decadent German chocolate cake my mother made. The tangy sweet peach cobbler with the gloriously buttery crust baked by my grandmother. My great-grandmother’s New Year’s Day meal of collard greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread for good luck in the new year.

I’m realizing that as long as my daughter is connecting with the people around the table, she’ll never miss out on love, joy, and laughter even if she is munching from a different menu.

She’ll join in when she’s ready.

When it comes to dynamic duos, Batman and Robin of Gotham have nothing on Led and Jake Bradshaw of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

Led, 48, a professional comic book illustrator, and his son, Jake, an 11-year-old with autism, have bonded over superheroes and comic books. But flash back to nearly eight years ago, when Jake was first diagnosed — Led wondered what the future held for his son. He worried about their relationship. He knew nothing about autism but began reading everything he could and asking therapists and other professionals lots of questions.

While scrolling the internet, looking for the latest sci-fi and comic book news, he came across a reference to art therapy and its impact for children with autism. Led, who began drawing at age 3 and never stopped, would add drawing for 25 minutes every day to Jake’s routine. Colors were used to express emotions. Led would engage Jake and ask why he was happy, angry or sad.

He beamed over his son’s obsession with superheroes, reminding him of his younger self. Jake had a speech delay but Led indicated he didn’t recognize it as a sign of autism. Art, something Led was totally at ease with, could help Jake express himself, even without words. He empowered Jake to draw himself as a superhero. That’s when things really took off.

Jake Jetpulse: A superhero with autism born

By embracing Jake’s passion, while luring him into learning, they have created a series of comic/workbooks, The Adventures of Jake Jetpulse, that gives readers a glimpse into Jake’s life on the spectrum.

The villains and monsters in Jake Jetpulse comics are from Jake’s nightmares, Led said. Jake would draw them and name them. To fight off the monsters, Led made “monster repellant spray.”

“I didn’t know what I was walking into. I was just being an attentive dad,” Led said. “I’ve created the superhero universe with him. The stories come from his experience, and I draw to bring it to life.”

Little did Jake realize, he was reading and learning while gaining more confidence. His teacher at school, at the time, shared the comic and activity books with other children.

“If you’re diagnosed with autism, that’s not bad,” Jake said. “It’s OK. You’re still unique and you can do anything.”

Working on social skills at school

Jake brings his creativity and his love of writing and drawing to his classroom at AHRC New York City’s Brooklyn Blue Feather Elementary School.

If it was up to Jake, “he would sit and draw all day,” said Rose Dorcia, his teacher. He is friendly, sociable, talkative, and very inquisitive, she added. “He reads very well, with good pronunciation and he understands most of what he reads.”

Like other children on the spectrum, Jake struggles with social skills. Rose said he’s learning how to approach other children if he can join their activity in an appropriate manner. He’s also working on reading body language, she said.

Led also continues to learn, every day from Jake. By encouraging Jake to pursue his special interests, he has learned to communicate better with him.

Led’s tip for other parents of children with autism?

“Do everything you can to be the best advocate for your child,” Led said. “Establish relationships with therapists and others who work with your child. Ask them, ‘What can I do at home, so my child doesn’t forget this.’”

And most importantly, he added, “make things fun.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AHRC New York City is a nonprofit organization that advocates for people who are neurodiverse to lead full and equitable lives. It helps more than 15,000 people annually, and calls for better education, living arrangements, prospects for work and fuller lives in the community for the neurodiverse.

EDITOR’S NOTE: City Dads Group is working with longtime partner Dove Men+Care to create “how to” videos for the grooming products company’s “Dads Care” campaign. We will be featuring the videos and scripts our members appear in. This one features Aaron Sheldon of our Columbus (Ohio) Dads Group, with a little help from his son, Harry, both shown above, talking about how to help kids with autism cope with a change in routine.

I’ve spent the past few years sharing how Harry and I explore our everyday world, and, lately, how our world has changed since Harry’s Autism diagnosis. Thanks to an amazing team of educators, intervention specialists, and therapists, we have a toolkit that has helped us through the upheavals of life, such as the COVID-19 pandemic.

One thing that’s really helped Harry during chaotic period is having a daily schedule. Sitting down and planning out our schedule together every morning has been a big help in managing the ups and downs of our new normal.

Here are the five things we schedule every day to help Harry, and I stay happy, calm, get our tasks done, and have fun:

Get up, eat breakfast, and get dressed

While we couldn’t stick to the school week schedule we had before social distancing and stay-at-home orders, starting the day with the expectation that we get up around the same time, eat breakfast, and get dressed, helps the day start a little smoother.

Do schoolwork in the morning

We’re both a little sharper, calmer and able to sit and focus earlier in the day. We can get more done with less stress if we get right to work.

Take plenty of breaks

No matter how calm and focused we are, we still need to give our minds a rest every so often. So, between assignments, and before and after video calls with Harry’s classmates and therapists, we take a few minutes to move our bodies, have a snack, or do some drawing.

Try NOT to set time limits

We try not to put time limits on tasks because sometimes it takes a little longer to eat breakfast or do your math assignment than others, and the stress of a countdown doesn’t help dads or kids.

Don’t try to do too much

The most important thing to remember when you build your daily schedule is: Make sure you don’t try to pack too many activities in. Each day will have its unique challenges, and it’s OK to step away from something if it’s not going well, and come back and try again later.

We hope that these tips will help you and a child with autism cope with changes and make your day a little easier, have fewer meltdowns, and have more fun together.

He soars through Central Park, his flight path twisting and turning to the delight of passersby, his satin cape shimmering and  red hair ablaze in the early afternoon sun.

My son, Liam, and I sometimes get cooped up at home for far too long. Liam is on the spectrum for autism, and although he’ll have a typical childhood and go to typical schools, it will be because he was diagnosed early and received the care and therapy he needs. Four weekdays out of five, he either has therapists visit in the afternoon or must be taken to an appointment. Another therapist spends time with him at his pre-school every morning.

In short, my son puts in a lot of work every week. His only afternoon off is Wednesday so we always try to make the most of it. Liam’s favorite thing to do is to run, to fly, and Central Park is the best place in the world for that.

His magical world in Central Park

Our route through the park is long and winding. We usually enter at Columbus Circle, head east to the Central Park Zoo, and then turn north. We will go past the sailboats of Kerbs Boathouse, the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, all the way up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Then we cut across the park to Belvedere Castle, and wind our way through the wooded pathways to the Bethesda Fountain. From there, we go to the bandshell, down the promenade, and hook right past the Carousel and baseball diamonds, to Heckscher Playground. There, Liam will run and play for an hour or so before we head back home.

Liam runs ahead of me the entire time, through his magical world of Central Park.

There’s a man who regularly plays the fiddle by the Heckscher Playground. He knows Liam by name, although he always calls him Batman, or Flash, or whichever identity he has chosen that day. Liam squeals in response, and the fiddler plays music for him to dance to.

My son’s imagination saves the day

Autism has not affected my son’s mental or cognitive faculties. He is as sharp as a tack, remembers everything and misses nothing. But one issue he had was with imaginative play. He was prone to lying on the floor, simply rolling a car or train back and forth in front of his eyes, fixated on its wheels, unwilling to expand his world out from his toy vehicle.

One of Liam’s therapists, Diane, found the key to coaxing him away from this laser focus on toy cars and trains. He would always get very excited when he heard a garbage truck outside, and would run to the window to see it. One morning, Diane pointed out the sanitation workers loading the truck. Liam simply had not registered them. He would only see the vehicles, not the people inside them.

This was partly our fault. His favorite television program was Thomas the Tank Engine, and he would watch some of Disney’s Cars every day. Both shows featured anthropomorphic vehicles and little to no human interaction. My wife and I had been unintentionally reinforcing his tendency to lock in on vehicles and ignore the humans operating them.

I’d been buying superhero toys and clothes for Liam since he first arrived. I make no apologies for being an unabashed nerd. It’s a big part of who I am. But when faced with the question of how to help Liam incorporate people into his play routines, and to help him branch out into role-playing and other types of imaginative play, I found the answer in superheroes.

Superheroes are big and bold, bursting with color, and impossible to ignore. Many of the toys come as vehicles and playsets. Now he would be required to deal with human characters when he played with vehicles. Capes, masks, accessories and clothing were easy to find, and encouraged imaginative roleplay.

Superheroes drew my son into more typical and varied realms of play. Once he saw how a cape flew out behind him when he ran, he became hooked. Now he would not only run, he would fly. His imagination would kick into overdrive.

He was no longer Liam, he was a superhero.

Watching people react to Liam as he dashes by has become one of my greatest pleasures. He actually lights people up. They smile. They laugh. They will try to take a picture of him, but he’s too fast. Their cameras only catch a brightly colored blur streaking away from them, but his picture stays in their mind, like the image of the sun does after you glance at it.

Walking next to my son is like walking next to the sun.

A dynamic duo

Liam isn’t the only one to dress up, of course. I’m all too eager to don a super suit as I follow him through Central Park. Liam chooses which superhero he wants to be, and then picks one for me. The end result is I add an extra kick to the sunny impact he has on people. Those folks already smiling about the pint-sized Batman who just ran past tend to break into even wider grins when they see an enormous Robin bringing up the rear with the stroller.

Dressing up as a superhero with my son has unintentionally practical benefits, too. Liam is more difficult to lose in a crowd, being an easily spotted explosion of color and energy in playgrounds swarming with kids. Conversely, my costume makes it easy for him to find me. Without planning it, our superhero outfits have become safety features, ensuring that we will never lose each other.

The superhero outfits, surprisingly, have also made me more approachable. Like a lot of dads on a playground full of moms, I’ve felt out of place at times, like an intruder. Granted, this feeling subsides (mostly because it isn’t really true) but that sense that I’m unwelcome, that I’m viewed with suspicion because I’m a man, comes back from time to time.

That all goes away when you’re wearing a Green Lantern outfit and your little Superman is directing you where to go to stop the next fiendish threat to the planet. It’s difficult to be perceived as a threat to anyone when you’re saving the world. You are immediately considered a safe space by all, and parents and children alike will come over and talk to you.

Making friends as a grown-up can be unnecessarily difficult, and a superhero shirt can circumvent that.When you’re focusing on what’s fun for your kid, you’re not worried about how others might be seeing you, and that’s the key to improving playground time for your child and you.

It’s seems weirdly ironic to not worry about how others see you when you’re wearing a Batman mask, but there it is. Superhero outfits can make you less self conscious while simultaneously making you more conspicuous. Funny, that.

So while I originally intended for superheroes to help Liam work through his issues, they’ve also ended up helping me with mine. But the secret here is not the costume but the time we’re spending together. Superheroes may be the conduit for that, and they can be switched out for anything else. Use whatever you are into — sports, music, bottle caps — as a starting point to find what your child really likes and how you can encourage him or her. That’s kind of a big part of what parenting is all about.

The point is, you don’t need to use superheroes, and you don’t need to be in Central Park. You can do this anywhere, with anything.

From Dynamic Duo to Justice League

It’s time for the play-date now. Liam’s preschool friends frequent Central Park as well, and we meet either on the Great Lawn or one of the playgrounds most every Wednesday. It’s a recent development, but a welcome one. The other kids all make sure to let me know they want capes, too. No problem. We have enough.

So we’ve gone from a Dynamic Duo to a full-on Justice League. Batman and Captain America team up with Wonder Woman and Paw Patrol Boy, or whomever else the children dream up. Now, whenever you visit Central Park on Wednesdays, you must keep an eye out for lots of low flying superheroes.

A little over a year ago, Liam was still barely speaking. He still had a tendency to withdraw into himself, and was slow to socialize with other children. To see him now, leading the Avengers in a charge across the Great Lawn seems nothing short of miraculous. Which is the kind of thing superheroes do, I suppose.

He soars through Central Park, his flight path twisting and turning to the delight of passersby, his satin cape shimmering, and the golden late afternoon sun setting his red hair ablaze, like a joyful fire.

My heart burns there, too.

“You will travel far, my little Kal-El, but we will never leave you, even in the face of our death. The richness of our lives shall be yours. All that I have, all that I’ve learned, everything I feel, all this and more, I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you, all the days of your life.

You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine.” ~ Marlon Brando/Jor-El in Superman: the Movie

While waiting in line at Trader Joe’s in Manhattan, I overheard a conversation behind me. Some guy was complaining about his sister’s kid, who has autistic.

He didn’t believe in that crap, he said, because that whole autism thing is just a politically correct way of saying her kid’s a brat, and it’s probably because his sister is too lazy a parent to give him the beating that would straighten him out.

That’s when the young man at the front of the line sent me to a cash register, so I didn’t get a chance to respond. But this guy’s statement has been bugging me ever since so I’ll take the time to deal with it now.

Our son is on the autism spectrum. We have it easy because he’s very high functioning. He’s only mildly affected: his cognitive/mental and physical attributes are all typical, but he does have trouble with social and emotional cues as so many autistic children do.

We’re also lucky we live in New York and our state cares about its citizens, so they’re getting us lots of help. We have therapists visit in the weekday mornings, and he goes to a class to help him every weekday afternoon.

Having said that, arranging all this was a nightmare. It took my wife and I acting as a team to make it happen. It wasn’t a smooth process at all. When therapists visit, that’s not time off for us either. We’re involved in what’s going on there as well.

When Liam goes to his classes, that leaves me a little time to take care of my day-to-day life stuff: cleaning, running errands, doing assignments, and prepping dinner, although normally I just want to take a nap. But this is the time to get the necessities taken care of because everything else is all Liam, all the time.

And again, I’m saying this realizing that we’re very lucky parents.

All of our hard work is paying off. Liam is doing great. He’s making huge progress and will enjoy the same childhood and schooling as a typical child because he was diagnosed early enough. Not to mention my wife, Robin, and I sacrificed a hell of a lot and worked our asses off to help get him where he is.

And no, autism isn’t caused by vaccines. Do not listen to Jenny McCarthy for medical advice.

No, autistic children aren’t brats. No, their parents aren’t lazy. Parent shaming is never cool, especially if you don’t have the first idea of what you’re talking about. Writing off an autistic child, especially one that is part of your family, as “just a brat,” and your sister as a “lazy parent” is crass and pointedly cruel at best.

The callous ignorance of this guy’s statements is astounding. And complaining something is “politically correct” is just code for saying you don’t want to treat others respectfully, anyway. So what I got from this dude was that his nephew is a brat, his sister is a crappy parent, he has no idea what autism is or what it means, and autism is just some big cover-up meant to force him into acting respectfully toward others when he doesn’t want to. Everything about his statements was insulting. He was very lucky I was called away just at that moment.

Because even after taking lots of time to think this through, how to delicately and intelligently put my response to his asinine comments, I’d still go with my first impulse. That would be:

“If you ever say to my face that my son needs a beating to straighten him out, I will apply your own logical fallacy back unto you, and break your damn jaw.”

Just so you know the context in case I ever DO say that.

With special guest (expectant dad), Henrik Lundqvist from the NY Rangers

Dads matter – not just on Father’s Day, but everyday in the lives of their children.  About two years ago, Mayor Michael Bloomberg established the Mayor’s Fatherhood Initiative (NYC Dads) to “strengthen New York City’s families by helping dads take a more active role in their children’s lives.”  The goals of the initiative include making all city agencies as “father friendly” as possible and championing the (same) message (that so many dad bloggers, dad groups, and journalists are) that DADS MATTER.

“The (2nd annual) NYC Dads Matter Award recognizes fathers from throughout the city who have overcome challenges to become positive and consistent influences in the lives of their children.”  Last night, I had the honor to go to Gracie Mansion to attend the powerful award ceremony for the ten “NYC Dads Matter” award recipients. We were excited and rooting on one of our NYC Dads Group members, Christopher Astacio, who was one of the deserving recipients.  Despite a constant battle with stomach cancer, Chris is a constant, active, and engaged dad to his two children.  His youngest daughter, Cristina, has autism and Chris is dedicated to fundraising and supporting research while he works full time as a teacher & as well as pursuing his Masters degree.  All of the other deserving award recipients had similar stories of overcoming significant challenges to be the best dad they can be.  Only ten dads are selected, but Alan Farrell, the NYC Fatherhood Services Coordinator, mentioned that 175 dads were nominated for the prestigious award this year.

Even though Mayor Bloomberg was not on hand (he was downtown with President Obama at the World Trade Center Memorial), Deputy Mayor Linda Gibbs, Alan Farrell, & special guest (expectant dad) Henrik Lundqvist, of the New York Rangers, made the entire evening feel very special.  For me, it was a wonderful feeling to be attending an event where fatherhood was front and center and the focus of the conversation.  I wanted to share some pictures to best capture the essence of the event.  Hat tip to Mayor Bloomberg, Alan Farrell, and the rest of their team for what they have accomplished in two short years & for their future plans on fatherhood in New York City.

NYC Dads Group member, Chris Astacio with NYC Fatherhood Service Coordinator, Alan Farell, Deputy Mayor Linda Gibbs, & Henrik Lundqvist

Enjoying the Grounds of Gracie Mansion

With Proud dad Chris Astacio & his daughter Cristina

As she emerged into this world, wailing her little lungs out, Cristina Jailyn gazed upon my anxiety-riddled face with those piercing green eyes of hers.  An overwhelming sense of tranquility surpassed the irritating sounds of those monitors in the delivery room as I said “hi” to my daughter for the very first time.

As if she already knew who I was, the sound of my voice eased her fears as I found my finger in the grasps of her tiny little hand. I gently kissed her forehead and whispered the same words I uttered onto my son when he was born: “You are my world and I will love you for the rest of your existence.”

Staring into her eyes, I knew she was perfection wrapped up in a little blanket, holding my heart in one hand while holding the world in the other.

Nearly a year later, I had come to miss those eyes of hers since she would seldom look directly at me. Mere hugs were nearly impossible as she would frantically attempt to evade my embrace because it seemed like it caused her immense pain.  I attributed this strange behavior to my prolonged absence because of my exhausting battle with stomach cancer. I thought that maybe I needed to earn my daughter’s love once again.

However, my wife would endure the same heartbreaking avoidance behavior.  Cristina would never respond to her name or call us by our names. Her vocabulary was limited to only five words which would cause her to resort to grunting and yelling. She could not point to what she desired, forcing us to play the “guessing game,” and her tantrums became increasing exaggerated.

Doctors initially thought that maybe she had a hearing deficit resulting from frequent ear infections but upon further in depth examination, her hearing appeared to be normal. We were completely perplexed and exhausted, not understanding what was happening to our daughter. Her behavior worsened, becoming aggressive and violent. I was losing my little girl.

Finally, on a normal work day in my school, I was just about to lock my classroom door as my cell phone started to ring. I ignored the call since it was during school hours but moments later, a text came through from my wife. It read, “Cristina is Autistic.”

Autistic.

That word echoed through my brain, ricocheting up and down my spine causing a wave of weakness. I slowly kneeled onto the floor and called my wife. On the other end of the line, I heard the voice of a mother overcome with sadness muster the strength to reiterate that our daughter is autistic.

That night I held my daughter and kissed her forehead as she slept in my arms. I whispered in her ears, “I know my little Cristina is in there, somewhere.” I, along with my wife, vowed to get her the best help possible.

Cristina now receives six days of intensive two- to three-hour therapy sessions by four separate therapists. Nearly 3 years old, Cristina now has a vocabulary of 50 words, can count to 10, gives hugs and kisses, and just recently learned her name as well as ours. We are working on two- to three-word phrases which has been stressful but rewarding.

Last night, I tucked my daughter into her bed and told her “goodnight, honey” to which she replied “good night, Papi.” I went to my wife with tears in my eyes and told her, “She’s beginning to understand.”

Although autistic, my Cristina is still perfection, holding my heart in one hand and her bright future in the other.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Christopher Astacio is an educator and father of two.

Photo: Joel Overbeck on Unsplash

Powerful!  Moving!  Hair standing up on the back of your neck!  Choked up! Words I would use to describe how I felt when watching this video clip from Autistic Like Me: A Father’s Perspective!

April is Autistic awareness month and after combing through some very emotional and heartfelt projects surrounding Autism, one initiative struck a special chord with us – Autistic Like Me: A Father’s Perspective.  Big thanks to NY Metro Parents to bringing the project to our attention.  Below is a powerful note from the Director’s Message on their website: