Written by Melissa Mainiero
Seventeen months after our first son, Jacob, was born, we welcomed our second child, Zachary. From the beginning, there was something different about him—something I couldn’t name but felt deeply. There were no flashing warning signs, no obvious delays. But as a mom—and an educator—I had questions. My husband Victor and I, both teachers, began asking friends and colleagues in child development what they thought. We wanted to understand.
One day, in the hallway at Benton High School, I shared some of my concerns with a colleague. A few months later, I heard the word “autism” spoken aloud in connection to my son for the first time. It was a quiet moment, but it marked a turning point—the start of a long, humbling, and ultimately beautiful journey.
There were evaluations and doctor visits. Scans and screenings. And then the diagnosis. By the time we received it, we had already weathered months of uncertainty and suspicion. The news didn’t shock us—it gave us clarity. The emotional blow had softened during the long wait. I didn’t dwell in guilt or self-blame. Instead, I felt empowered. We had a name. Now we could take action.
I threw myself into research. But in 1999, “research” meant something very different than it does today. There was no Google. Just a dial-up connection, a blinking cursor, and a lot of patience. After four hours online, I found only one article—it focused on autism and vaccines. I knew that wasn’t the direction I needed. The next day, I walked into a bookstore and ordered Thinking in Pictures by Temple Grandin. When it arrived, I opened the first few pages—and closed it again. I wasn’t ready.
It would be years before I could finish the book and see its beauty. In those early days, I wasn’t looking for inspiration—I was looking for answers. I wanted a cure, a checklist, a path. But I quickly learned that autism doesn’t come with a step-by-step guide. Every child on the spectrum is different. There is no one-size-fits-all plan. So, I shifted my focus: instead of trying to fix what I didn’t understand, I chose to listen, learn, and trust those who had walked this road before us.
I watched Zachary closely. He met physical milestones—crawling, walking—but not social ones. He didn’t smile back at us or seek hugs. He didn’t babble or point. He often wandered off to quiet corners of the house, content in his own world. I remember one day, he fell and cut his head badly enough to need stitches. Instead of running to me, he ran away. I remember wondering, Does he even know who his family is?
At one evaluation, a therapist asked, “Does Zachary point to objects?” I froze. I couldn’t think of a single time he had. I flashed back to Jacob as a toddler—his chubby finger pointing at every airplane or butterfly, asking questions about his grandfather flying the plane. Why hadn’t I noticed this missing moment with Zachary? I felt crushed. Did I fail to teach him something so simple?
That night, I became a student of my son. I watched more carefully. I tried to see what he saw. One afternoon, I noticed Zachary walking slowly past our pantry door, back and forth, several times. I assumed he wanted a snack. But instead of offering one, I knelt down. That’s when I saw it—the shiny brass doorknob. He was watching his reflection move and distort with each pass. He wasn’t asking for anything. He was studying, discovering, wondering. That moment changed how I parented forever. I stopped trying to pull him into my world—and started stepping into his.
Not everyone understood. Friends and family offered sympathy or compared him to movie characters. Some gave us names of specialists or advice they’d seen on TV. Others didn’t know what to say. But most simply showed up. They offered love, meals, patience, and open arms. That’s what we needed more than anything.
Autism Is a Family Journey
Autism affects more than just the diagnosed child—it reshapes the entire family. Zachary’s siblings have always played a central role in his life and growth.
Jacob, just under two years older, never questioned who his brother was. He loved him fiercely and fully. Years later, he reflected:
“Zachary has always been my brother. I never treated him any differently. Watching him overcome challenges has taught me patience and empathy. One of my favorite memories is Zachary baking chocolate chip cookies from a big tub of dough. One night, he handed one to my girlfriend—now wife—Cassidy. That’s how I knew he accepted her. It wasn’t just a cookie. It was his way of saying, ‘You belong.’”
Cassidy shared her own view:
“At first, Zachary didn’t want me around. I wasn’t part of his routine. But over time, he welcomed me. Before one family trip, I made him a scrapbook so he could see where we were going and what to expect. He carried it with him everywhere. Now, he protects me like I’m part of his inner circle.”
Ten years after Zachary was born, our daughter Ava joined the family. Her bond with her older brother is something we treasure deeply:
“Having Zach as a big brother has been a blessing. Autism doesn’t stop him from enjoying life or spreading joy. From painting to baking, he does it all. He’s helped shape who I am—more patient, more compassionate, more curious.”
Growth and Milestones
Those early years were exhausting. Zachary rarely slept more than three hours a night. One evening, I found him in the kitchen, balancing on drawers he’d pulled out to climb the counter, stacking plastic cups with incredible precision. We adjusted everything in our home for safety—double baby gates, anchored furniture, locked cabinets. We adapted.
School posed another challenge. Despite being educators ourselves, we struggled to navigate the system. In third grade, we were told Zachary would never earn a regular diploma. I remember asking, “Then what are we aiming for?” The answer: a certificate of attendance. That wasn’t enough for us—or for him.
Our advocacy led us to ACT 833, a Louisiana law allowing students with disabilities to earn meaningful diplomas through alternative pathways. Years later, Zachary became the first student in Bossier Parish to earn a Jumpstart Diploma for Students with Significant Disabilities. He didn’t just attend school—he succeeded.
One of my favorite moments was his first hug. We had waited so long. Then, one day, it happened—unprompted, sincere, unforgettable. That photo hung in my classroom for years, until a student told me it needed a proper frame and surprised me with one.
Victor’s favorite memory is of Zachary’s first try on the knee board, behind our boat. We all held our breath, wondering if he had the coordination it took to achieve this skill. This anxious moment quickly resolved to cheering him on as he held steady until we made the decision to stop, even though Zachary could have held on much longer. We quickly came to understand that Zachary loved water. It brings calm to his internal chaos.
The Magic in the Details
Autism can make life harder, but it also brings unexpected beauty. Zachary’s fascination with VHS tapes began young. We thought he loved the movies—but it turned out he loved the tapes. He developed his own cataloging system, sorting them not by title but by production codes. He can locate any tape in seconds, and uses them to juggle with precision and catching them with perfect rhythm. He is able to fast-forward to exact scenes without looking at the screen. It is mesmerizing.
We realized the key wasn’t always teaching Zachary our way of doing things—but finding ways to enter his. That’s where connection lives.
Support and Strength
We couldn’t have made it without the help of professionals and family. Early speech and occupational therapy at Willis Knighton were invaluable with therapists, Jessica and Jolene. Pediatrician Dr. Frank Hughes and Jennifer Patton, APRN, CPNP provided excellent medical attention and answers to our questions. Countless educators became our guides and cheerleaders. Most importantly, we built strong relationships with others who had knowledge and information throughout this journey. We asked questions. We stayed curious. And we surrounded ourselves with people who believed in Zachary as much as we did.
Our extended family showed up in countless ways—from offering car rides to watching our kids during tough appointments. They became part of our village. And through it all, Victor and I grew as parents—more patient, more present, and more in awe of our children.
Zachary Today
Zachary is now a young man who works at Howdy’s Ice Cream Shop, run by Holy Angels. He picks his own chores each morning and greets customers with a handshake and a smile. His artwork, discovered during a painting session with his brother, has blossomed into a true gift. His paintings are sold as prints, cards, and tea towels in shops across Shreveport-Bossier. When he sees someone buy his art, the pride on his face is unforgettable.
He doesn’t need many words. His actions speak volumes.
Zachary is not a puzzle to solve. He is a person to know, to love, and to learn from. His journey has changed us—made us stronger, softer, and more open to the unexpected beauty in life.
Looking Forward
Zachary’s future is perhaps the hardest thing for us to put into words. Like most parents, we want our son to live a life that brings him joy and purpose—a life where he feels loved, valued, and supported by the world around him. But when your child has a disability, that vision of the future can carry extra weight. There are more questions, more unknowns, and sometimes, more worry.
Still, I return again and again to these two words: But God. We trust Zachary’s future to Him. And in the meantime, we do everything we can, as his family and community, to surround him with love and support.
That circle of support is wide. It stretches beyond our immediate and extended family to local business owners who offer him space to grow, former teachers who still check in, and caring souls who purchase his artwork through Holy Angels. Knowing he is held by a community that sees his worth and believes in his potential brings us an incredible peace.
Right now, Zachary is thriving at home, and we are grateful. He plays a vital role in our daily lives and the lives of so many others. Because of that, we haven’t felt the need to explore other living arrangements. We’re holding on to what works, trusting God with what’s ahead, and we’re celebrating each day for the gift that it is.
Over time, I’ve come to see Zachary’s behaviors not as odd or unusual, but as unique strengths that offer us new ways to understand the world. Inspired by Temple Grandin’s words, “I am different, not less,” I’ve learned to enter his space—his perspective—to better support him. It hasn’t always been easy. I once believed that, as his mother, I should instinctively understand everything about him. But autism doesn’t work that way. It’s not a one-size-fits-all experience. Understanding Zachary requires time, faith, patience, prayer, and constant reflection. Each day brings trial and error—but also growth, connection, and insight.
About Melissa Mainiero:
Melissa is Executive Director of Accountability & Grants for Caddo Parish Public Schools. She is also an accomplished artisan, crafting home décor alongside her husband, Victor Mainiero. In Victor’s words, “Melissa is the educational resource that has been a blessing in our family and has combed every research article, book, and multimedia site to discover all the helpful information that has made this journey so successful.”
Special thanks to: Mary-Kaitlyn Allen | Glamour & Grace Photography