What’s it like parenting an autistic son?


What’s it like parenting an autistic son?

It’s throwing spaghetti at the wall and see what’s sticks; experimenting with meds, dosages, time of day and hoping your living guinea pig won’t be adversely affected; it’s Friday nights leaving the boys unattended for a quick, 10 minute shower only to discover in that time they decided to “finger paint” the entire upstairs, dirty laundry, walls, furniture, and floors (yup, that happened last night).

It’s praying about 80 times a day for patience and still flipping out because your son is trying to stick a hand towel in the toaster. It’s going to bed each night with tears streaming at your inability to do this parenting thing right.


It’s constant shame in Target/school/church/restaurants that your kids (led by your oldest autistic ring-leader) can’t behave ANYWHERE. It’s continual, hourly doggy paddling, praying you don’t run out of energy and drown before you find land.

And then sometimes—in bright, miraculous moments—it’s waking up on Saturday morning and finding Jude rallied his brothers in making an extravagant breakfast for you, complete with hand drawn flowers, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit (his tacit apology for the previous night’s finger painting debacle).

What’s it like parenting an autistic son? It’s worth it, that’s what it is.