On Monday, my wife and I finished watching the fourth season of “Love on the Spectrum” on Netflix. It just came out on April 2, World Autism Awareness Day. But we couldn’t stop watching it.
“Spectrum” in the show’s title refers to the autism spectrum. It follows people who have autism as they experience the ups and downs of dating. My wife and I started watching the show, which began as an Australian series created by Karina Holden and Cian O’Clery, after we received our son’s autism diagnosis a few months before his third birthday. That was a little more than two years ago now.
We started watching the show because, after our son’s diagnosis, we wanted to learn as much as we could about autism. We read books and watched everything we could: TED talks, PBS documentaries and films.
At the time, watching “Love on the Spectrum” may have been the least helpful. I was desperate to learn what to do for him, how to support him and what his life would be like when he was in first grade. Gosh, I wondered, would he be able to attend regular school? Would he ever learn to walk up the stairs? (Yes.) When will he stop using his pacifier to sleep? (Who knows?)
The show did not help with any of those questions. That is because everyone in the show is an adult. Our son is still a toddler. As the stories unfolded, I started asking myself what my son will be like when he is older. Will he be super shy? Will he have good manners? Will he be able to live independently as a young adult or will he stay with us?
Our son may not grow up to be much like any of the individuals on the show. Some people with autism are nonverbal, for example, and folks like that do not make it on screen. I see more diversity every day by simply dropping off my son at his school, which specializes in caring for kids with autism.
They may not capture the entire spectrum, but the people who are on the show are more real than anyone else I’ve seen on reality TV. Perhaps it is a credit to the show’s producers, but it seems like the people who share their lives with the viewers just cannot help it. They are authentic by nature.
In that way, they are just like my son. I can tell that despite the difference in age. Our son dances when he wants to dance, and he sings when he wants to sing. Sometimes, when he has finished drinking from his water bottle, he’ll just let it fall to the ground. The same goes for a chicken tender, especially if he’s eating mid-dance. He cries when he is sad and screams when he is agitated. He is always and everywhere himself. He is fully alive with his glorious and myriad rough edges. It’s hard, but it is also beautiful.
The show captures that. It is also real about the deep faith of many—though certainly not all—of its stars. Couples visit chapels and express a desire for lifelong commitments. If you believe in God and you’re authentic, you can’t hide it. It may be wearing cowboy boots with crosses on them at your engagement party, not having sex before marriage or being forthright in expressing your preference for a Christian partner.
Our son may never date. Or maybe he’ll get engaged like one of the show’s couples does this season. My wife and I both cried when we watched it. The proposal is precious, loving and genuine, and I believe it would have played out just like it did whether the cameras were there or not.
In dating, whether you have autism or not, things don’t always work out. And it hurts. And sometimes you are the one who wants it to end, but sometimes you’re not. It is hard for neurotypical people, and it is hard for the people on the show as well.
One star, Madison Marilla, explains at least twice that she has a more severe form of autism than does her boyfriend, Tyler White. But they work it out and support each other. We all need someone to be there for us, especially when things don’t work out. And like so many other parents, we want to be there for our son whenever and however he needs us.
If you just learned your child is autistic, this show is not the answer to all of your questions. But the series certainly does tenderly humanize its stars and challenges stereotypes. It is concrete about struggles while it captures a thread common to all human life: All of us want to love, and we want to be loved.
In the second century, St. Irenaeus said that “the glory of God is a human being fully alive.” The people viewers meet watching “Love on the Spectrum” are certainly that. And it is glorious.
[Read next: Our son has autism. We need accompaniment—not Trump’s medical advice.]
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