Update: The Facebook version of this video went viral, hitting 1 million views in 4 days, and going on to get over a million more. On the original thread, scores of parents began posting photos of their own autistic children; their “beloveds.” It was a beautiful and inspiring thing. You can visit that thread and add to it here.

This is an original poem and video that I made with my buddy Robert. He’s an extremely talented photographer and composer, and he just got a drone, which we put to good use on the magnificent Seal Rock beach in Oregon. I hope it gives you a better glimpse not only into my inner world, but into the life and personality of Jack. I’ll paste in the text below.

A Reflection of Aching Joy

What do the waves mean, son of mine?

These swells of salty outrage

Over which name tag you ought to pin to your chest:

Are you autistic? Or do you have autism?

Or are you merely affected by this condition,

This blessing or this blight?

With ever shifting definitions?

Who’s right?

I don’t know, and I’m weary of caring.

What do the waves mean, son of mine?

I watch you play tag

With those frigid foam daydreams

As they grow and progress to your toes,

And for an instant, I see them—

Sandcastle Visions

of a typical future.

The kind with graduations

and nuptuals and…

simple conversation about summertime.

But the wave retreats… Recedes… Regresses…

And again your voice is lost in recesses

Of silent staring at meaningless crashes

Of water upon on the sand.

What do the waves mean, son of mine?

I watch you flap your hands

In sines and in cosines,

Over shapes and colors sending shocks of sheer delight.

We’ve tried to flap them with you,

But the magic eludes us,

Our experience excludes us,

From the poems of your palms

And the fables of your fingertips.

What do the waves mean, son of mine?

The brain doctor shrugs at the ripples in your scans.

What mysteries lie beneath

The tranquil surface of your sea?

Are they epileptic jolts

That still your tongue

From singing those melodies you can now only hum?

Sometimes I flail in these oceans uncharted,

And sometimes I swallow the sea

But oh, my dear boy,

How you dog paddle!

Can you teach me how to wade these waters

with winsome eyes

And a laughing chin?

Can you show me how to swim

Shirtless and shameless

In my own pasty skin?

Can I, too, blink away

the incessent splashes

And errant sprays

That haggle over your name?

Because you are not a disorder, my son,

Not a blue puzzle piece

On a clinical spectrum.

But neither are you normal,

You’re a piece of God’s own daydreams

A reflection of aching joy.

No, you’re not normal.

You are… beloved.