Mighty Little Man...

Kids have a way of changing your life.
For better or for worse, they take everything you know and turn it on its ear, forcing you to rethink your entire existence, step outside of your comfort zone and make life-decisions on the fly.

They change everything...
And yet their innocence, wonder and unquestionable love for you fill your heart with pride and confidence in the hope that you can make a positive difference in this one little life.

My son turned ten years old today.

He has endured 10 years of life with a mind-crippling disease that has narrowed the potential of his fruition and defined his victory in life as simple survival.
10 years of living in a fog.

He has no friends his age and certainly no comrades who'll spend time with him for the want of his company.
10 years of solitude.

In this long decade, my boy has cried nearly once per day.
That's 10 years of tears.

My son has had an army of doctors, therapists, social workers and teachers try to slowly decode his mental condition in hopes of piercing the fog of his mind and finding that one thing that helps him advance cognitively...All to little avail.
10 years of trying.

And what about me?
This threshold in his life has served as a point of reflection in mine.
I look at him now and think about all the times I've been angry or frustrated with him.
Every moment that I've yelled at him or been forceful with him erupts into my mind's eye and I experience once more the guilt and self-loathing that came in its aftermath.
It reminds me of how wretched and imperfect I am.
It reminds me of how undeserving I am of his love.

And yet, he gives it anyway.
Regardless of how I've acted in the past, my boy still seeks me out for comfort and companionship. He still seeks me out for horseplay and hijinks. And whenever he's down and wants kisses and cuddles, he still looks for Daddy.

And I give it to him. Whenever he wants it and whenever I can, I hug that little man every chance I get. Can you blame me? I'd get on my knees and beg his forgiveness if I thought it would work. But instead I think he'd just climb on my back to play horsey.

I'll never be able to tell, but I want to believe that's his way of forgiving me for my faults.
His love and affection shows me that I still have worth in his eyes.
"Apology accepted, Dad. Now giddyap!"

As hard as Vincent's Autism has been for him, I think that it's been harder for Lisa and I. I mean, we're not the ones suffering the fate. But ours is a sad existence because we know just how hard the world can be for someone like him. I think that's why it hurts so much.

But through it all, my child has been unconditionally loved by a lot of people. Myself, Lisa, his grandparents, family and friends. The people who get to know him become strengthened and uplifted by his perseverance and good humor.

He makes people better.
What more could a father want from his son?

So let me just say thank you.
Thank you Vincent, for all the playing, dreams and laughter.
Thank you for being a shining star in your mother's eyes and for touching the lives of all you meet.
Thank you for being good to your sister and for being someone she looks up to.
Thank you for being a good boy at home and for working hard at school.
But most of all, thank you for constantly forgiving me of my foibles and making me a better man.

I love you so much, my Mighty Little Man.
Regardless of your cognitive state, you've given me an abundance of warmth, nurturing and care.
10 years of love.

Happy Birthday, Vincent.