When Adrienne and Aaron’s son was just 14 months old, they were given a word no parent is ever fully prepared for: autism.
The diagnosis wasn’t a surprise, but it still hit hard. He wasn’t meeting milestones. He wasn’t speaking. He struggled with sensory overload, couldn’t point or gesture, and was often locked away in his own quiet world. By 8, he still couldn’t complete a traditional IQ test — not because he lacked intelligence, but because the format simply didn’t fit the way his mind worked.
What followed were years filled with challenges that would bring even the strongest families to their knees. He battled encopresis until he was 12. He struggled with severe gross motor delays, fine motor issues, and a nervous system that seemed to work against him. Every small task — writing his name, tying a shoe, sitting still for more than a few minutes — required monumental effort.
But that wasn’t all.
Dyslexia made reading feel like decoding a foreign language. Dysgraphia turned writing into a war zone. ADHD meant constant redirection, and auditory processing disorder garbled instructions and conversations. Higher-order language deficits left him misunderstood in classrooms full of expectations he couldn’t yet meet.
And yet…
This is the same child who now ranks second — possibly third — in his high school class. The same child who is captain of his varsity swim team, a quiet leader whose stroke speaks louder than words ever could. The same child who was courted by colleges for his athleticism, his resilience, his story.
Today, he’s taking college-level calculus remotely — through a four-year university — while still in high school.
And last night?
He got the email.
Accepted. To his top-choice university. The one he dreamed about. The one that saw not just test scores, but tenacity.
Adrienne shared the moment with a single sentence, voice thick with emotion:
“He didn’t speak until he was 4. Last night, he got into his dream school.”
There’s a picture, too — his smile stretches across his whole face. Not because of the acceptance alone, but because of what it means: Every therapy session. Every meltdown. Every step forward and slide back. Every time they were told he’d never catch up, never keep up, never thrive.
They were wrong.
He didn’t just catch up — he soared.
And for every parent in the thick of it, knee-deep in evaluations and IEPs, hoping for a glimmer of light — let this be it. Let this be the reminder: progress isn’t always fast, and success never looks the same. But it is possible.
This young man didn’t take the easy road.
He carved his own.
And now, he’s heading toward a future no one could have predicted — except maybe the people who loved him most and never stopped believing he could get there.
