this is us series- part 1 | Jan 1, 2026. More about the author in Meet The Parents→
Autism Wasn’t New to Me
Before becoming a parent and having two children on the spectrum, I already had firsthand experience with it as a sibling of someone with autism. My younger brother David was diagnosed early in his childhood, back in the 1980’s when relatively little was known about this disorder. Back then, my brother was different – “living in his own world” – as people would regard kids like him.
Growing up, I started noticing my little brother wasn’t like all the other kids I interacted with. He didn’t communicate or act the way they did. He didn’t say much, and when he did it was a few scattered words, or a short phrase. When he was a little older the speech started coming along but a lot of it was him repeating lines from a cartoon show we’d watch or from a tv ad. He would hum a lot or make other unusual sounds. Oftentimes he would carry around something in his hand, like a Hot Wheels car or another small toy. Other times he’d carry around a small rock he found outside. He would often take these objects and hold him close to his eyes, staring at them closely. Other times he’d do that while making rapid shaking motions with them.
Back then, I didn’t put a lot of thought into it. It was just…David. That was his way.
Growing Up With Autism in the Family
My parents fought hard for David. They travelled with him from our home in Chicago to Massachusetts to spend a week with Barry and Samahria Kaufman learning about their Son-Rise Program, bringing those lessons back home so that they could provide the therapy and support David would need.
From there, there was more work to be done: finding the right school environment and resources for him, going to the Illinois state capitol to lobby for increased special education funding, making job and career changes so they could spend more time with David. Later, it was moving to other parts of the country with enhanced special ed programs where David could thrive.
When I became a father, autism was something I was readily aware of. I thought I had a head start. I thought I understood.
Familiarity Doesn’t Always Mean Readiness
But familiarity doesn’t necessarily equal readiness.
It’s one thing to be a sibling while your parents handle the hardest parts. It’s another thing to be the parent — the one who must decide what happens next, the one who lies awake asking, am I doing enough?
The day autism became part of my parenting story; it wasn’t a shock. But it was heavy. Because every parent starts out with a picture in their mind when their child is born: the sky is the limit, the milestones will come, the dreams will unfold.
When you realize your child may be walking a different path, you don’t stop loving them for a second. But you might feel scared, worried and face a lot of uncertainty. These feelings change over time but when you learn to walk on this parenting journey with hope, patience and open-mindedness you will find yourself rediscovering those dreams.
You may need to create a new map and you won’t get clear answers right away but they will meet you along the way.
Seeing My Parents Differently
I found myself appreciating my parents in a way I hadn’t before.
When I was younger, I was busy being a kid — high school, sports, social life, my own world. David was five years younger than me, and as we grew up, we ended up in different spaces. We went to different schools. I wasn’t fully present in his day-to-day. Then I went off to college and later embarked on my career, which created more distance.
I was aware but didn’t understand the full extent of what my parents were carrying until it landed in my own hands.
And even now, years later, I still ask the same question:
Am I doing enough?
Before We Had a Name for It
Looking back, the signs were there — but they didn’t show up the same way in both kids.
Storm: The Signs That Were Easy to Miss
With Storm, it wasn’t as obvious at first. She was later diagnosed with ADHD and mild autism, and in her first few years, it could’ve been easy to miss. There was a speech delay, but on the surface, it didn’t automatically scream “autism” to everyone around us.
We heard a lot of “don’t worry,” and “she’ll grow out of it.” Her pediatrician said not to stress.
But there were things that caught my attention — little mannerisms that triggered memories. She walked on her tiptoes. I remember looking it up and seeing it listed as one possible sign and thinking, nahhhh… like I was arguing with my own gut.
And then there was scripting — the repeating lines and phrases from what she watched on TV. That one hit me differently, because I had seen that before. David used to do it. When I noticed Storm doing it, something in me went quiet, like a part of me already knew where this might be headed.
Grey: When It Looked Different — Until It Didn’t
With Grey, it was different. He was later diagnosed with moderate autism, but early on, the signs didn’t look like what I expected. There was some speech delay, but we had already been through Storm’s development, so it didn’t immediately trigger alarm.
At one point, he had words — and then it felt like it stopped. There was irritability. Frequent tantrums. Demand avoidance. And a part of me didn’t go straight to autism, because it didn’t look like the picture in my head.
Until it did.
Grey had more obvious stimming. His hands were always busy. That was one of the clearest moments where my past experience and my present reality collided.
The difference was: with Grey, I didn’t wait. I took him to get evaluated.
Searching for Certainty
Part of what I was searching for at the time was certainty. I wanted to understand the level of need. I wanted to know what we were facing so we could respond. Because in my mind, not knowing felt more dangerous than the answer.
Denial still played a role, though. Even with everything I knew, I didn’t want it to be true. That’s something people don’t always understand — familiarity doesn’t erase hope. It doesn’t erase the part of you that wants your child’s life to be easy.
Parenting Together, Even When Things Were Complicated
In those early years, their mom noticed the signs too. There was worry and concern, but also a quiet understanding: something was going on, and we needed to pay attention.
Our conversations were careful, but we were on the same page about getting them help. She trusted me enough to lead a lot of that process — seeking out providers, setting appointments, taking action — because I had some background. Not expertise. Just experience.
Our relationship as a couple was already complicated. The timing was bad. By the time Grey’s diagnosis came, we were already breaking up. But we still functioned as co-parents.
The diagnoses didn’t create new strain — the relationship was already where it was. If anything, we put the relationship aside and focused on the kids. We handled what needed to be handled.
The Moment We Heard the Word Autism
Storm’s diagnosis came after she started school. The school’s Child Study Team expressed concerns about how she was fitting into her classroom environment, and suggested testing and a possible alternative classroom placement.
It wasn’t the news one wants to receive as a parent, but I remember taking it in stride. “We can overcome this,” I thought.
Grey’s diagnosis was different. I took him to a specialized pediatrician prior to him starting school. In his case, it wasn’t a question of if, but rather one of identifying where help was needed and how to get it.
When it shifted from “we think” to “we know,” denial wasn’t an option anymore. Or at least, not the kind of denial that keeps you passive. Once it was named, my brain went straight into motion:
Okay. What do we do now? What support exists? Where do I go? How do I make sure we don’t waste time?
There was still hope — especially with Storm — that things would shift, that some challenges would soften with time, that certain supports would click. But the bigger shift was internal: autism wasn’t something that happened in my family growing up anymore.
It was now something I was responsible for navigating as a parent.
And even when the word wasn’t surprising, it was still a turning point.
Because once it’s said out loud, you start carrying the future differently.
A heartfelt reminder from this is me family. As you read this story, we want to pause and acknowledge something many families quietly experience:
For many parents, the signs are there long before there is a name. They show up in small moments — a gesture, a repetition, a way of engaging with the world that feels familiar yet hard to place. Often, those signs don’t arrive all at once, and they don’t always look the same from one child to the next. Looking back, it’s common to recognize patterns that once felt ordinary, easy to explain away, or simply part of who your child was. That doesn’t mean they were missed out of neglect or denial — it means understanding unfolds over time. A diagnosis doesn’t erase the “before.” It gives language to experiences families were already living. And for many, it brings clarity not just about their child, but about moments, memories, and instincts that finally make sense.
This story reminds us that autism is often recognized in pieces — through familiarity, comparison, reflection, and lived experience — and that every family’s path to understanding looks different. There is no single moment when everything becomes clear. There is only the gradual naming of what has always been there.
— This Is Me Family