Opportunity Comes in Strange Places

Many people today ask me how I knew the boys were intelligent as toddlers. I remember those early days vividly, when the only difference between the boys’ assessments seemed to be how severe the outlook was. By that point in my career, I had spent over 20 years in medical research, always following the science, the data, and the specialists’ opinions.

But amidst the confusion, a single voice spoke up with a contrarian view. “I don’t care what they say, I know the boys are intelligent.” That voice belonged to Val, my wife and the boys’ mother. An educational psychologist and elementary teacher with two decades of experience, she broke ranks with her peers and stood firm. “Stop,” she said. And from Val’s determination, our family’s journey began—a journey that led us to emerge stronger from the challenges of autism.

When the crisis hit our family, I found myself reflecting on my own childhood and the experiences that shaped me. My thoughts turned to my relationship with my father.

Thinking About My Dad

My dad came from a generation where money was tight and nothing was wasted before its time. As an engineer, he spent countless hours on the road, traveling between jobs. He repaired crushers in quarries, installed milk separators in creameries, and built elevators in some of New York’s tallest buildings. When I was old enough, I was fortunate to join him on some of these jobs.

But the moments I cherished most were those evenings in Dad’s workshop, rebuilding his car. I remember engines being reduced to a sea of shiny nuts, bolts, shafts, and pistons. Our tools included jars of grinding paste and sticks that resembled toy guns but were essential to restoring the car’s future. In that meticulously kept workshop, I learned everything there was to know about my dad’s cars and the world they inhabited.

Dad was a man of few words, and I’m sure he often left the workshop exhausted by my constant chatter. But over time, our conversations shifted. I moved from asking endless questions to completing tasks he assigned, which he rigorously inspected. Then one day, he said it: “Enda, you’ll make a great engineer. I don’t see anything you couldn’t fix. If you want to go down that road, I’ll do everything I can to support you.” And he was true to his word.

Life Repeating Itself

I can’t say if I became a great engineer, but I never forgot the lessons from those father-and-son times. Years later, with twin sons of my own—boys whom society seemed poised to reject—I decided to take an unconventional step. I picked up a car that had slid into Lake Michigan, spent days underwater, and subsequently froze in the depths of a New York winter. A complete write-off.

This marked the beginning of a new adventure. Together, the boys and I stripped the car back to the metal. Over the years, we explored a vast array of mechanical and electrical engineering. Like in Toy Story, no part was too small or unimportant to repair. And as with many people who have touched our lives, all we needed to do was reach out. Pro bono parts flowed in from scrapyards around the world. Engineers took time to advise and inspect our progress. All so my profoundly disabled sons could accomplish something no one believed was possible: bring this car back to life.

A Moment of Validation

With some trepidation, I asked Western Motors, a top-class workshop in our neighborhood, to evaluate our work. This was no small request. I was asking for the boys and me to be welcomed into a pristine, meticulously maintained workspace. It was a place with a long-standing reputation for excellence—a place my dad would have been proud to see associated with our efforts.

The result? The car passed with flying colors. Sure, they pointed out a couple of minor items to tidy up, just as my father would have. The detailed reports covered everything from the engine to the light bulbs. And standing in that workshop, I could feel my father’s presence, smiling at what his lessons had enabled us to achieve.

Lessons Learned

For all the technology that surrounds us, life is about opportunity—and the ability to embrace it. We all learn by doing, and through these experiences, we make our contribution to the world. We didn’t need social media to connect us. We are naturally connected by shared experiences and how we pass them down through generations.

All human potential requires is an opportunity to blossom. And the responsibility to create those opportunities falls to all of us privileged enough to share this life. I, for one, feel profoundly blessed by the opportunities my sons have presented to me.

What’s Next?

And what has all this led to? The boys, drawing from their experiences, are now working to create opportunities for others born less than perfect. On a global stage, they are lead researchers developing language technologies for autistic children. But that’s another story—one that began with a car in Lake Michigan and a father’s unwavering belief in his sons.