I'm the father of a child with autism. My son is smart, curious and endlessly creative. He loves Pokémon, plays video games with friends and has a wonderful way of using wordplay for laughs.
He thinks on a macroscale about the injustices of the world and how we should lead with kindness. And like many of his peers with a similar condition, he thinks about things on a microscale - he can solve complex math with ease, has a deep knowledge of intricate storylines and lore from a multitude of cultures and literary sources, and he has a very defined understanding of what is right and what is wrong.
So when I heard Robert F. Kennedy Jr. recently claim that people with autism "will never pay taxes, they'll never hold a job, they'll never play baseball ... they'll never go out on a date. Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted," I wasn't just offended. I was heartbroken - and furious.
This is my son we're talking about. And millions of others like him.
They are not statistics. They are not burdens. They are not broken. They are people.
Kennedy's comments don't reflect science, compassion or truth. They reflect ignorance.
And ignorance at this level, when held by someone in his position, is dangerous.
Autism is a spectrum. That's not a metaphor - it's a medical reality.
Some individuals do need lifelong support. Others live independently, pursue careers, fall in love and raise families. Many are somewhere in between. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 1 in 31 children are diagnosed with autism in the United States, and there's growing research into how autistic adults thrive when supported with inclusive education, employment opportunities and community engagement.
But reducing every autistic person to a hopeless stereotype isn't just wrong. It causes actual harm. It undermines inclusion. It increases stigma. And it sends a message - to my son and to others like him - that they're not worth the effort.
My son deserves better. So does every person with autism. So do the parents, educators, therapists and communities working every day to support them - not "fix" them, but meet them where they are and help them grow.
Autism doesn't need to be "cured." It needs to be understood. And autistic people don't need pity - they need opportunity, support and respect. They need people in power to stop speaking about them without listening to them.
To be clear, I'm not suggesting that autism isn't without challenges. We know the realities. But we also know the beauty, the resilience, the insight that comes from seeing the world differently.
My son has taught me more about patience, perception and empathy than any book, classroom or has-been politician ever could.
So here's my message to Kennedy and anyone else who sees autism as a tragedy: Spend a day with someone like my son. Talk to autistic adults. Visit an inclusive classroom. Walk into that experience with curiosity, not assumptions.
Because the problem isn't autism.
The problem is the way people talk about it.
It's time we stop talking about autism like it's the end of something. It's time to listen to autistic voices. It's time to elevate stories that show the full humanity of people across the spectrum. For our family ‒ and for so many others ‒ it's simply a different beginning. One filled with joy, complexity and, yes, extraordinary love.
Anyone who can't see that shouldn't be speaking for our future.
Joseph Ball lives with his family on the northwest side of Indianapolis. He is a marketing and communications manager, has worked as the digital editor for Indianapolis Monthly and is chair of Tonic Ball, a charitable music festival that benefits Second Helpings. This column originally appeared in the Indianapolis Star.