TV anchor’s new book is an inspiring love letter to a father who gave all to fix his son

Starting when I was young, Dad always told me I was different.

I was clearly on the Asperger’s/autism spectrum, but Dad refused to allow school psychologists to diagnose me with anything. Instead, he decided to “adapt me.”

I was constantly bullied, and Dad determined pushups would whip my 7-year-old body into shape so that no schoolyard third grader would dare mess with me — soon he had me doing 200 a day. 

I was unable to read social cues, so he’d take me to dinner and watch me — during it, he would casually tap his watch, my signal to stop talking.

Later we would discuss what I’d missed. Why a joke wasn’t funny. What I said was “off rhythm.”

Over time he began to teach me the social cues most learn naturally.

His many lessons came from his time as a door-to-door salesman and the techniques learned from “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

As I got older, the bullying became too intense, so my parents hired tutors to get me through fifth and sixth grade.

Dad believed strongly in goals — both setting and achieving.

His was being the youngest person in history to start and sell a company for $1 million; he did it at 21 in 1971, long before Al Gore invented the Internet.

At 5, when I saw a story on the evening news about a 10-year-old who flew a small plane across the country, the goal became to beat him.

At 8, Dad said OK to flying lessons, and at 11, I became the youngest to fly across the Atlantic.

Along the way were some brutal lessons — but ones that live on, like getting it right the first time every time, or, in the words of my flight instructor, “People die.”

That later saved my life as a foreign correspondent in Libya.

When my flight instructor had finished cleaning up my vomit after a routine bout of airsickness, Dad asked, “Why don’t you tell Lucky he can’t do it?”

My instructor replied, “If he won’t quit, I can’t.”

Setting goals naturally progressed from Dad’s belief self-esteem is earned not given.

And in similar thinking, he believed in brutal honesty.

In seventh grade, I really wanted to become a tennis player — a girl I liked played tennis, and Dad had been great at the sport.

“You will never be able to play tennis,” he said after watching me at a lesson. “I’ll support you and come watch your lessons, but you will always be awful.”

That’s a far cry from the world we live in of participation trophies.

He pushed me hard to find something I could be “great” at. 

Almost every parenting book is written from the perspective of the parent — never the child.

Dad will tell you he believed fixing me was only possible because of my “intelligence,” but I would counter and say it couldn’t have happened without his love.

This is the love story of a father who quit his job to help his son.

But it’s also a commentary on a society that now wants to make accommodations for every perceived disability.

My diagnosis of an IQ spread from genius on half the test to mentally retarded on the other would have gotten me significant special treatment as that became en vogue during the late ’80s and ’90s.

Dad believed a cruel world would not make such accommodations after I graduated high school. He was right.

Yes, I am lucky in so many ways — including having a dad with not only the love and dedication but the ability to spend a decade-plus focused solely on me.

People will take from this story many things — it’s not a prescription to help others, but perhaps it will give others hope or an idea.

Most important, it’s proof of what dedication and love can do.

Dad, I’ll call you tonight to say good night.

Leland Vittert is NewsNation’s chief Washington anchor and author of “Born Lucky.”