What You Should Know About Being An Autism Dad
No Ordinary Love: What You Should Know About Being An Autism Dad
Maybe I’m showing my age here, but there used to be ads for the Peace Corps where they described it as, “the toughest job you’ll ever love,” and, when I was approached to broach this topic for NewsOne, that line immediately popped into my head.
You see, last week, autism found itself in the headlines once again. Not because of a breakthrough in treatment or a moment of celebration and understanding, but because people who have somehow been given a great deal of power cynically decided to weaponize it as a boogeyman.
Autism is too often trotted out as the catch-all fear-bucket for parents and prospective parents: the shadow lurking behind vaccines, Tylenol, or some other imagined culprit. It’s painted as a defect or deficiency. A punishment. A result of something you must have done wrong, either in utero or in those fragile early years.
Your kid has a speech delay? Hope it’s not autism.
They like trains or dolphins a little too much? Oh no, could be autism.
Whatever it is that might make a child a little spicy, someone’s going to whisper “autism” as if to insinuate that something is inherently wrong with or bad about people on the spectrum.
But that’s just it. There are parents like me who wake up every day to our neurodiverse children and, while recognizing and acknowledging (and bracing for) the challenges, try to take it on with a degree of joy.
The misinformation and fear-mongering make an already complex journey infinitely harder.
Parents are left second-guessing themselves, drowning in guilt that has no basis in reality, and trying to explain away something that doesn’t need explaining. Autism isn’t a curse. It isn’t karma. And it damn sure isn’t a deficiency. It’s a reality. And if you’re lucky enough, it becomes part of your family’s story.
It might not be what you signed up for, but it’s something that you don’t realize you already have the tools to handle.
Being an autism dad is basically like playing fatherhood in All-Madden mode. No joogin’ the stats with quick slants. No two-point conversions on a QB waggle. Just you, your child, and a litany of hidden blitz packages that might come from running out of mini-pancakes to the tag in their shirt, literally rubbing them the wrong way. By the time you’ve seen your play break down, you’re already flushed out the pocket, and now you’re just trying not to take a loss.
And the thing about autism is this: if you’ve met one kid with autism, you’ve met one kid with autism. No two are alike. They’re custom builds.
They don’t present the same way; they don’t progress the same way, and sometimes even your own child will change up on you without warning (it’s called an extinction burst, and they are an experience). You’ve got to learn to ride with it. To bend, adjust, reimagine, and try again. And to do that, you’ve got to shed every preconception you ever had about what you thought fatherhood should look like.
Because here’s the truth: loving someone with autism is no ordinary love.
When you have a child with autism, you have to accept that the love you pour out might not always come back to you symmetrically. They may not say “I love you” on command. They may not hug you back when you open your arms. They may not perform affection the way other kids do, or at all. And yet, it is the realest love you can ever offer.
It’s real when you see their face light up at their favorite song. It’s real when you watch them piece together a puzzle you weren’t sure they’d even try. It’s real when you find yourself on the verge of tears over milestones most people overlook: zipping a coat, waving at a friend, or asking for something with words instead of tears.
That kind of love forces you to reframe everything you thought you knew about parenting. Your child may not walk the “typical” path. They might skip milestones altogether. They may never do some of the things other kids do. But a difference is not a denial.
The sooner you shed the idea of what’s “normal,” the sooner you open yourself to an entirely new spectrum of joy.
Autism doesn’t erase the potential for happiness; it multiplies it in ways you never saw coming. It opens up experiences that may take you places a so-called typical child wouldn’t. People on the autism spectrum are living on a different frequency, so when your wavelengths align, and you’re totally dialed in together, there’s nothing like it.
My daughter isn’t the result of Tylenol. Or vaccines. Or any of the other scapegoats that keep getting recycled in those parenting Facebook groups that got all weird during the pandemic. She is exactly who she was meant to be, given to me in the exact way I was supposed to receive her. My job isn’t to cure her, change her, or mourn who she isn’t. My job is the same as any other father’s: to raise her with love, care, foresight, and thoughtfulness.
The difference is, I just have to make sure she doesn’t wander off in the store and that I keep an extra change of clothes in the trunk, just in case.
Autism parenting is a grind, but it isn’t hopeless. Here are three lessons I’ve learned that might help other dads walking this road:
1. Give Yourself Some Grace
Being an autism dad is like trying to land a fighter jet on an aircraft carrier at night in choppy seas. You are going to land hard a few times, Ghostrider. You will get it wrong. You will lose patience. You will doubt yourself. And that’s okay. Grace isn’t weakness, it’s fuel. It’s what keeps you in the fight for tomorrow.
2. Don’t Compare
Not to other kids. Not to other dads. Not even to other children on the spectrum. Your child is not a case study. They are not a diagnosis. They are yours. And when you focus on what they can do, instead of what they can’t, you start seeing the masterpiece in progress.
3. Celebrate The Wins
Parents of typical kids will never understand the joy of watching a child buckle their own seatbelt. But you will. Because you worked on that for six months. You drilled it. You cried over it. You wondered if it would ever click. And when it does, it feels like winning the championship. Celebrate those victories, big and small, because they matter.
Make no mistake, being an autism dad is a no-days-off proposition. You’ve gotta stay frosty and be on alert for triggers or bad stimuli. There are infinitely more ways to get something wrong than to get it all right.
But there’s others out there doing it, and you can do it too.
No dad can do this alone. And if you’re a Black father of a child with autism, the isolation can be even heavier. The pressure to be strong and to be in control is heightened. That’s why you need a village, not just of other autism dads, but of solution-oriented brothers who get it.
You don’t need a circle of people who only want to vent and complain. You need dads who swap strategies: how to sneak vitamins into picky eaters’ limited foods, how to get your child to sleep without their tablet, and which therapies are worth the time and money. You need brothers who understand that getting busy is better than giving in to blame.
Our children don’t need our pity. They need our power. And as Black fathers, we have a responsibility to double down on that power, because the world already treats Black children as less-than. Autism doesn’t change their worth; if anything, it demands we fight even harder to make sure they know they are valued, loved, and celebrated.
They may never say it, but they know when you’re fighting for them.
Let’s be honest, autism parenting is unpredictable. There will be meltdowns. There will be chicken nuggets on repeat. There will be spontaneous leaps off furniture that test your homeowners and health insurance policies. You will find yourself praying for sturdy couches, quiet stores, and that one go-to snack that’s always in stock.
And yet, inside that chaos, there is joy. Joy in the quirks. Joy in the breakthroughs. Joy in the laughter that comes when you stop worrying about “normal” and start embracing what’s real.
It’s what those powers that be don’t understand. Their addiction to “normal” is robbing them of an appreciation of special.
You are not alone. There is nothing wrong with your child. Don’t let the fear and insecurity of others dictate how you love your family.
Because being an autism dad isn’t about fixing what’s broken. It’s about embracing what’s beautiful. It’s about holding space for a love that doesn’t always fit neatly into greeting-card slogans or sitcom storylines. It’s about recognizing that no ordinary love will ever prepare you for this.
It’s the toughest job you’ll ever love. And that’s exactly the point.
So here’s to the next meltdown, the next milestone, the next meal of nothing but fries and chicken fingers. Here’s to the teachers who help, the therapists who try, and the siblings who love without question. Here’s to the Black dads holding it down in spaces where we didn’t expect to find ourselves, advocating for kids the world doesn’t always understand.
Autism is not a tragedy. The tragedy is when we let misinformation and fear keep us from loving our children fully.
Tylenol didn’t give me my daughter. God did that. Why would I ever affix blame to my blessing?
No ordinary love could carry me or you through this journey. But that’s what makes it extraordinary.
Corey Richardson is originally from Newport News, Va., and currently lives in Chicago, Ill. Ad guy by trade, Dad guy in life, and grilled meat enthusiast, Corey spends his time crafting words, cheering on beleaguered Washington DC sports franchises, and yelling obscenities at himself on golf courses. As the founder of The Instigation Department, you can follow him on Substack to keep up with his work.
No Ordinary Love: What You Should Know About Being An Autism Dad was originally published on newsone.com
