A special team: an NFL assistant coach has discovered unconditional love as the single parent of an adopted boy with autism

Like millions of dads, I'll celebrate Father's Day on Sunday. I just didn't follow the conventional path to paternity. I'm a single parent and the adoptive father of a 5-year-old boy with autism.

Six years ago, I was 45, divorced and in my 14th season as a special teams coach in the NFL. My life consisted of football and fishing--when I had free time. I felt like I was missing something. That's when I decided I wanted to experience fatherhood, and I wanted to experience it from birth.

Let's be honest. Most single men would be rejected if they tried to adopt an infant. But I was lucky. I knew the right people, and I had the money.

In October 1999, when I was coaching for the Bucs, I went to a foster home in Tampa and saw a baby boy who was three days old. He was so tiny. I held him in my arms and fed him his bottle. His eyes were open, looking at me, the whole time. He wouldn't go to sleep. He just held on to my finger with one hand and kept drinking. I was hooked.

Three weeks later, I brought him home. I was a father. I named him after me--Joseph Gabriel Marciano.

At first, it was like, "Wow!"--here's this 3-week-old baby, and I'm responsible for his life. I set his crib next to my bed, and I slept with one eye open. When he wasn't moving, I'd get up and put my finger under his nose, just to make sure he was breathing. It didn't bother me to get up a couple of times at night to feed him because I enjoyed it. I made up for any lost sleep at work by taking a power nap after my special teams meeting or before practice.

I never had any doubts I could balance my career as a football coach with being a single parent. I've had several good caregivers who have helped out, both in Tampa and in Houston, after I joined the Texans in 2002. And I've been fortunate to work for two understanding head coaches--Tony Dungy and Dom Capers. There were days when the caregiver didn't come on time and I had to show up for a 7 a.m. staff meeting with Joseph in one hand and his diaper bag in the other. That wouldn't fly in a lot of places.

When Joseph was an infant, it was pretty easy because all he did was eat, sleep and cry. And I became a whiz at changing diapers.

One time, I had Joseph with me in the Bucs' locker room and he needed a diaper change. When no one was looking, I stuck the dirty diaper in Brad Culpepper's locker, under his helmet. Culpepper later accused Warren Sapp of putting it there because Sapp's wife had just had a baby.

Sometimes, I'd take Joseph out in my boat. I'd fish while he napped in his little cradle. As soon as he woke up, we'd head back in. As he got older, he'd cry when I turned the motor off. He wanted it running.

A couple of scary things happened when he was an infant. Once, Joseph woke up at 2 a.m. crying and gasping for air. He was all clogged up and couldn't breathe. If I stood up and walked with Joseph, he was OK. But as soon as I put him down, he'd cry. I was in the parking lot at the doctor's office by 7, even though it didn't open until 8. As it turned out, he had croup.

When I talked to my mom the next day, she said I should have started a hot shower and let the vapor clear out his breathing passages or I could have rubbed some Vicks VapoRub on him. She had all kinds of solutions. Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking straight at 2 in the morning.

Later, when he started to pull himself up on furniture and hold on to walk, he would drag his right foot, like it was numb. The doctor took an X-ray but couldn't find anything. A few days later, Joseph started running a fever, and I couldn't get it under control. He had to be admitted to the hospital, and this was in the middle of training camp.

The hospital was only 10 minutes away. I'd make two or three trips a day over there--I'd be in my coaching gear, all soaking wet--and then spend nights. I just wanted to be with Joseph. It killed me to see all those tubes and IVs coming out of him. I was crying more than he was. It took them nine days, but the doctors finally got it under control.

It was right after we moved to Houston that I realized something was seriously wrong. One night, I asked Joseph to pick up his blocks. He threw himself on the floor and started kicking and screaming. When I pulled him up, he took off and ran straight into a window. He didn't get hurt, and the window didn't break, but it was scary.

After my brother, Tony, was hired as an assistant by the Texans, I invited his family to move in with Joseph and me while their house was being built. Joseph would take his toys into his room and not associate with my brother's kids. Kelly, Tony's wife, was the first one to recognize it. She said she thought Joseph had some social issues. She was being kind.

I took Joseph to Texas Children's Hospital, where he underwent a ton of tests. The diagnosis was that Joseph had autism, a developmental disorder with symptoms such as impaired social interaction, difficulties in communication and repetitive behavior. That was not shocking to me. What was shocking was the doctor gave us no hope. He painted a bleak picture: Joseph would need adult supervision his entire life, and he might never be able to vocalize.