My barely verbal autistic son has taught me a great deal about life and the limits we place on ourselves. Think about those times when you want to say something, but you just can’t think of the word. The harder you try, the more it seems to elude you. Now, imagine it’s EVERY word. If someone says the word you can repeat it. If someone points to it, you might, or might not, be able to say it.

This, I believe, is the world my son, Phillip, lives in. I describe him as ‘autistic barely verbal’, but that doesn’t begin to touch upon the richness of his verbal abilities, let alone his gentle soul. He is such a unique personality, so devoid of the socialization the rest of us have that sometimes my daughter and I will turn to each other and say, ‘don’t you feel bad for all of those people who don’t have a Phillip’?

I’ve had the pleasure of spending the last few weeks travelling with Phillip, just the two of us. I expected a good travel partner, and I got just that. Phillip is always happy to go along with whatever I want to do; he is very patient. He never complains and makes few demands.

Part of this is a learned helplessness. Growing up in special schools for autistic children, out of necessity they had to watch over the children carefully and restrict their activity. As I’ve talked about before, from literally climbing the walls to eating wooden pencils to running off, or ‘eloping’ as it’s called in autism circles, Phillip was always doing things that were more dangerous than most American parents would allow. It is not an exaggeration that if I went into Phillip’s room and he was writing on the walls, even the time he did so with his own poop, that it was a relief. Why? Because so many times it was so much worse..

And yet, he is and always has been a blessing. One comment I get more than any other, by far, is “what a good father you are!”. I’m not so sure that’s true, but I can say I truly enjoy Phillip’s company. I have no hesitation about bringing Phillip wherever I go: the coffee house, dinners, even business meetings. I feel as though anyone who doesn’t like that I brought Phillip isn’t someone I want to talk to anyway.

Lately, I’ve been giving Phillip more independence. I can’t give him full independence. After all, he might be capable of safely crossing the street on his own, but I suspect not. The consequences of being wrong are too large to dare try it out. But I’m surprised at how capable he is when I do give him the chance to be more independent.

At my very busy local coffee shop, I often send him into the back to find us a table while I order. I can see him the entire time, but it’s far enough away that I can’t always hear his interactions. If a table is open he’ll sit down and claim it for us. If not, one of three things will happen: either he will come back and stare at me silently, or he will stand in the other room waiting for a table to become available or, my favorite, he will find an empty seat at an occupied table and sit down.

Phillip sitting down is my favorite because it gives me the chance to see human behavior in action. I’ve mentioned confirmation bias before and, being around Phillip, I see it in spades. Just the idea that someone would sit down at an occupied table at an empty chair without asking confuses people. Often, when people have their nose in their phone or newspaper (the coffee shop is the only place I see anyone reading a physical paper anymore) they assume Phillip asked and they didn’t notice so they wave him on, moving their stuff if it impinges on Phillip’s space. Other times, you can see the shock in people’s eyes when he does it; Phillip has broken protocol and people notice. Because he looks young, people often give him a pass. If they tell Phillip the spot is taken he’ll get up, silently, and look for another seat. There are enough regulars who now know Phillip that often one will ask him to sit down.

The best of all is when they start to talk to Phillip. Phillip’s natural reaction to questions, any question, is to look at you, smile and nod his head. People assume from this that Phillip is agreeing with them. Heck, I fall victim to this trap and I’m aware enough of it to write a blog about it! In truth, he almost always nods whether or not he agrees or even when he doesn’t understand the question. His nod is more just an acknowledgement that you said something.

The one question he will answer reliably is “What’s your name?” to which he replies, often quite meekly, ‘My name is Phillip.” Most other questions he either won’t answer or he will repeat your last word. So, if they ask him, “do you want one of my croissants?” He might smile, nod and say ‘croissant’, but he wouldn’t move to take one.  This leads to some interesting exchanges as people ask Phillip questions and they assume they are getting real answers.

It only takes a minute or so of talking to Phillip before people realize there is something different here, but that’s also about the time I get there with our orders. If he’s sitting with someone new I will apologize to them and say I asked him to find a seat and I guess he did! The overwhelming majority of people say how nice it was that he came and sat with them.

The must surprising confirmation bias I’ve noticed is my own. When I first sent Phillip back to find a seat I was sure he wouldn’t understand. Or, if he understood, he’d be too hesitant to find us a seat. But that wasn’t the case at all. The very first time I sent Phillip back to find a seat for us he found and claimed the only free table; one I couldn’t even fully see from where I was ordering our food.

I have since started asking Phillip to do all sort of things I wouldn’t have thought he could do: go get the food order when it’s ready, clear our table when we are done. Once, when we went outside only to find it was raining, I sent him back to get us umbrellas and he did so quickly and correctly. This made me wonder how independent he could be if all of us who love him and keep him safe worked to let him be as independent as he could possibly be.

Then I started to wonder about myself. What could I accomplish if I didn’t let my confirmation bias about what I could or could not do get in the way? I suspect for both of us there are few limits except our own thoughts, and it’s up to us to keep pushing the limits; ignoring what we already ‘know to be true’.