In the lead up to my son’s freshman year at a far-off college, I found myself repeating the mantra of so many parents: “I just want him to be happy.” It’s a phrase so often stated it sounds like an automated response to a confusing and ultimately unanswerable question. A little bit like a white flag.
Of course I want him to be happy, but as a person who has lived 50-odd years, I well know that some of the time he won’t be. And that’s ok. Maybe there are other things to want.
When his older sister was diagnosed with a developmental disability at the age of two, my primary concern was not about her happiness. Instead, I worried if she would ever gain the skills necessary to connect with others, to form meaningful relationships, and to make her own unique contribution to a family and community.
Though I initially found behavior therapy a daunting prospect, I knew it was an effective means of prying children on the spectrum from their own world.
As a toddler she screamed through intensive sessions as a therapist tried to instill skills that came naturally to most. It was torture for both of us, but over time she learned to make eye contact, to engage, to take turns, and to follow two-step directions — and to understand that there may be more to happiness than sitting at home surrounded by your toys, or staring at a screen.
In recent years, much has been written and discussed about the nature of happiness and finding and living a fulfilling life. Whole college courses and careers are dedicated to the topic. One of the most compelling details of The Blue Zone study — an analysis of communities around the world where people live the longest and suffer lower rates of loneliness and depression — is that community members cultivate a sense of purpose by sharing themselves and giving back to others.
That may be by tending a communal garden, preparing a meal together, or spending time with children, the elderly, or the infirm.
Maybe instead of wanting him to be happy, I should hope that my son finds a course of study and activities that give him a sense of purpose and allow him to give back.
Maybe instead of wanting him to be happy, I should hope that he finds the courage to step outside his comfort zone, to put down his phone, to make eye contact, and to look and feel beyond himself and his own experience of the world. Maybe instead of hoping it will just happen, I should remind him that the path to happiness is not always that happy, and the tools needed to get you there are not always easily acquired.
While his sister will never get through her days without support, she has developed the skills necessary to participate in group activities and help others when given the opportunity. Aside from a steady stream of Disney movies and library visits, she wants to apply the skills she has practiced for so long to everyday life, to contribute and to connect with those around her.
Sorting utensils, setting a table, and saying hello to the person at the checkout counter bring immense joy.
I understand that my son and those headed for higher education might not get as jazzed by small tasks and interactions like this, but these are the routines and moments that keep a home and a community humming along — and I’m hoping that along with the many achievements that (I do hope) lie ahead, he too will similarly delight in making even the smallest contribution to a larger whole.
Nothing would make me, and I’m certain him, happier.
