A father made his son, but the son remade his father’s life.

In 2004, when I first held my newborn son, I never imagined he would become the catalyst for the most profound transformation of my life. I couldn’t have foreseen that this small being would reveal truths about myself I had spent decades avoiding—that I had inherited my father’s workaholic tendencies, that I was destined to repeat the pattern of absence that had marked my own childhood.

But my son, whom I’ll call C, wouldn’t let me walk that familiar path.

The Mirror of Autism

C’s autism became an unexpected gift—a mirror that reflected not just his unique way of seeing the world, but my own need for deeper connection. Daily, sometimes hourly, I witnessed his struggles with human relationships and social interactions. Each moment of his confusion in navigating social cues became a window into challenges I had never truly understood.

Watching him, I began to see the mountain that lay ahead: How would he find his place in a workplace designed for neurotypical minds? How would he participate in team meetings when small talk feels like speaking a foreign language? How would he thrive in environments that often misinterpret his directness as rudeness, his need for routine as inflexibility?

These questions haunted my quiet moments. What could I, as his father, possibly do to help?

The Unexpected Journey

At fifty, I knew nothing about IT or programming languages. My world had been shaped by twenty years in ministry, thirty years of melodies and chords—anything but code. Yet love makes us brave in unexpected ways. I made a decision that surprised even me: I would learn to speak the language of machines, hoping somehow it might help my son speak more fluently in the language of the workplace.

I enrolled at TAFE, becoming a student again in halls filled with people young enough to be my children. The timing seemed providential. As I struggled with my first lines of Python, the world was discovering Large Language Models. While others used ChatGPT to decide what to eat for dinner or argue with them over nonsense, I saw something different—a technology that could understand and reconstruct human language, perhaps offering a bridge for those who find human communication challenging.

From Toy to Purpose

What began as a toy project for my language-delayed son evolved into something larger. CueMeIn emerged not from a business plan, but from a father’s desperate hope. Could LLM help someone like C to practice workplace scenarios? Could it provide a safe space to rehearse conversations, understand office dynamics, learn the unwritten rules that neurotypical people absorb intuitively?

The platform grew from my research into autism, workplace behavior, and the unique strategies that help neurodivergent minds thrive. Each feature was informed by watching C navigate his world—his need for clear structure, his appreciation for direct communication, his desire to contribute meaningfully when given the right support.

The University That Never Was

C didn’t take his HSC. He couldn’t. While his peers experienced university life, he remained at home, his world seemingly smaller than theirs. Do I feel sadness about this? Initially, yes. But I’ve come to believe in something profound: our brains cannot distinguish between vividly imagined experiences and real ones.

In this truth lies extraordinary possibility. Through CueMeIn’s simulated workplace scenarios, C and others like him can experience authentic workplace interactions. They can fail safely, succeed privately, and build confidence before stepping into the real world. This isn’t inferior to traditional education—it’s education redesigned for minds that learn differently.

An Invitation to Hope

To parents walking this uncertain path: you are not alone in your midnight worries about your child’s future. To those who, like my son, find the neurotypical world exhausting and confusing: your differences are not deficits to be overcome, but strengths to be cultivated in the right environment.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

These words, familiar from my pastoral years, take on new meaning as a father and developer. CueMeIn isn’t just an app—it’s an invitation to rest in the possibility that technology can serve love, that innovations can amplify human understanding, and that every mind deserves a workplace where it can flourish.

My son remade my life by teaching me that the greatest innovations spring not from market research, but from love that refuses to accept limitations. In learning to code for him, I discovered that the most powerful programming language is hope itself.

Sometimes the student becomes the teacher, and the father becomes the student. Sometimes autism doesn’t limit a life—it expands it, teaching us all new ways to see, connect, and serve.

For parents navigating similar journeys, for individuals seeking understanding in a neurotypical world, for anyone who believes that technology should serve humanity’s most vulnerable: this is why CueMeIn exists.

The author is a developer, former minister of twenty years, and guitarist of over thirty years, currently dedicated to creating inclusive technology for neurodivergent job seekers.