Watcha watching, Dad? TV? Well, now you’re watching the Lucas Show!

My son was drunk this morning. From the moment he woke up, my little 12-year-old non-verbal fella was three sheets to the wind. Staggering, running, clapping, and jumping, he couldn’t be contained. If I came near, he’d wrap an arm around my neck and give me a sloppy kiss on the cheek as if to say, “This guy right here…this guy…” We have many mornings like that. 

For the sake of those about to call Child Protective Services, I should probably clarify. My son’s intoxicant of choice isn’t beer, liquor, or wine. It’s iPad. He was trashed on iPad. 

Yes. A big ol’ stein of screen time starting in the early hours gets him pretty lit by the time I find him. That sense of euphoria lasts for hours.  

You can’t stop him. I don’t know if I can properly describe it without sounding like I’m exaggerating. In reality, even my exaggerated-sounding retelling doesn’t do it justice. Picture the most over-the-top reaction a young kid could have to enjoying his device and then double it until infinity. That’s Lucas. 

He hops around with it in one hand and, if he needs to drink his morning orange juice, he’ll literally dangle the cup from his mouth by the straw so he can swipe uninterrupted. He eats with one hand and navigates menus with the other. He could be on fire and would brush it off with one arm while surfing for Elmo videos with his uncharred hand. 

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of Lucas’s autism was the hold this device would take on him. Right after he was born, I was given an iPad as a birthday gift. At the time, it was a novelty and I wondered if this giant version of the phone in my pocket was worth all the hype. 

As he grew up, though, it became clear that this tablet thing was not only worth the hype, but apparently the greatest thing to ever exist. Nothing has a hold on my guy like it does. If the iPad was a person, it would be my son’s cult leader. He would do its bidding and take over the world at its behest. So, yeah. Let’s thank the universe that iPads aren’t alive. 

The joy he gets from it is a sight to behold. He uses a separate one for communication, but the most popular ones in my home are purely for enjoyment. Like the soldier mantra, the talker is for business, but this one is for fun. 

There does, however, come a question that I need to handle during these times of drunken kid YouTubing. I have to take stock of the moment, examine his reaction, and decide if we need to calm him down. 

What does this mean? Well, if he’s just jumping, shouting, and carrying on, I leave him be. Even when it annoys me, I allow him to react like he’s at a Beatles concert. I never want to stifle his happiness or enthusiasm. There aren’t many pastimes he truly loves and I want to encourage him to be happy. 

If you’re wondering how that can get annoying, then you don’t have a kid like mine. When I say he screams and jumps, I mean non-stop for hours. Watching TV can be impossible with him in the room. Not only will he pierce the serenity with squeals of joy, but he will physically jump in front of me and stand there with a giant smile on his face until I acknowledge him.  

Lucas, no. Go sit. Sit on your bean bag. 

He complies…for ten seconds. Then he’s up and hopping again in my field of view. Whatcha watching, Dad? TV? Well, now you’re watching the Lucas Show! Yay! 

Could I let him go do this upstairs in his room? Sure. Would he be happy there too? Absolutely. But would I? No. I would feel bad if that was my go-to place for my son when he’s at his most joyous time. I want him near me and I endure these intrusions to my relaxation through the use of Airpods and my own iPad, situated in a way that makes it impossible for him to jump in the way. 

That said, there are times when his favorite thing becomes his worst thing. As with many children on the spectrum, Lucas can get overstimulated. I watch for the signs that is happening. It’s then that I need to step in. 

His laughter changes and his expression morphs. It’s like watching someone under a witch’s spell, forced to be happy. There’s a sense of desperation in his laughs and even the kisses he gives me become more like headbutts. I can feel the tension rising and see the pained look on his face. That’s when I will take it from him, sit him back, and make him breathe. 

Surprisingly, he is grateful. Removing his device from his hands isn’t met with aggression or resistance, at least on the level one would expect. Rather, he lets go and sits back. Sometimes – and this is how I know I made the right choice – he’ll fall asleep. 

Seriously. From 100 miles per hour to being knocked out cold in minutes, it’s as if he didn’t know how to put it down and get the rest he was desperate for. He needed me to interject and make it happen. That’s a lot of pressure for a parent. I don’t take that responsibility lightly. 

While that might sound daunting, it’s part of what all parents do for their children. Knowing your child and understanding when they need you to look out for them is important regardless of whether they have autism or not.

Let them have the things they love, but step in when it becomes clear that they need us. If there was ever an example of parenthood in a nutshell, it’s this. All our kids have their iPads, no matter what that iPad actually is. It’s our job to be looking out for them. 

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