Karson’s Walk: A Father’s Journey Through Autism, Growth, and Grace

 

Finding Out: The Moment Everything Changed

The first time I heard the word autism connected to my son, I had mixed emotions. Fear. Confusion. Guilt for not knowing more. But I didn’t let it break me. I manned up and said, “Let’s get it, we got autism together.”

For a while, I tried to escape what I didn’t yet understand. I turned to alcohol not to celebrate, but to escape. At first, it brought a little peace. A moment of happiness while I was down. But that moment turned into a habit. It became excessive, and the weight started to show physically, mentally, emotionally. I knew deep down it was taking years off my life.  And worse, I was stealing time… time that belonged to Karson.

One day, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the man staring back. Tired. Heavy. Checked out. That wasn’t the father Karson needed. That wasn’t the example I wanted to set. So, I made a decision to hit RESET. I laced up my sneakers, started working out, and began reclaiming my mind, my body, and my purpose. Not just to feel better, but to be better. Because I want to be here. Really here. To guide Karson. To teach him how to become a man.

The Weight of the Uniform

In the military, conversations usually start with: “Where were you stationed?” or “Do you know so-and-so?” It’s always about connection. I was surprised yet strangely comforted to find out how many other military parents are navigating autism too. It’s more common than people realize. And that made me feel less alone.

But military life also means constant change. Moves. Uncertainty. Paperwork. Every PCS isn’t just about housing and schools; it’s about services, therapies, specialists. I don’t just need a “good area”, I need a place that allows Karson to thrive. Somewhere safe, somewhere supportive and somewhere that gives him the tools he needs to succeed.

The Noise That Never Stops

Most days, my only real quiet time is my ride home.  Just silence. No music. No phone. Just me trying to calm all the noise vibrating in my head from work and from what lies ahead.

At home, there’s no “off” switch. I go from leading junior Sailors to leading my family. I hear grunts, chirps, hums, yells all day long. And Karson doesn’t stop. So, neither do I.  Because while it can be overwhelming, it’s also a reminder: I’m needed.

Somewhere along the way, I started losing touch with some of the people I care about most. Strong relationships with family and friends began to fade not out of love, but out of time. Karson requires so much of me that I didn’t know how to nurture anything else. And that hurts. Because the love I have for those people hasn’t changed, not one bit. There just aren’t enough hours in the day. I hope they know I still carry them with me, even in silence.

A Special Shout-Out

To Karlyn, thank you for being the best big sister your brother could ever ask for. Thank you for understanding when we couldn’t go places, or when we had to change plans at the last minute. You never complain. You just love him. I see you. And so does he.

The Walk Ahead

Every time we go to the beach, Karson walks a little ahead of me. Then he stops. Turns around. Looks to make sure Daddy’s still there. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes.  That’s the dream: for him to one day take that walk without looking back—into a world that sees him, values him, accepts him…. exactly as he is. He’ll just go out strong, confident, and uniquely himself. And I’ll be right here, cheering him on, even if he doesn’t turn around to check.

This journey isn’t just about autism. It’s about growth. Grit. And love that never stops. This is not only Karson’s walk, but it’s mine too. And every step is worth it.