When he was ten years old, my son Colin came up with the idea of a Valentines party for his friends at school—girls and boys. Maura, always game for a party, helped him cut out handmade invitations in the shape of … Continue reading
Morning I The cold snap this January makes it hard to wake up, our drafty 1961 house never quite warm enough. I’m too cold to relax except when in the shower or in bed. Cold or not, Colin still wakes … Continue reading
Colin loves to draw superheroes and talk about their high mission in the world “to fight for justice and peace, and the preservation of free will,” he says. He often names the superheroes after real friends—Sadie, Jack, Emma, Carter, Elsa, … Continue reading
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My son Colin lists and catalogs whatever captivates him, filling homemade notebooks, backsides of school papers, and 3×5 index cards with scribbles, doodles, and written lists: Geometric shapes, colors, elements, candy bars (real or made up), book and movie titles, … Continue reading
Colin has taken to drawing self portraits: simple sketches with lines on the face to align the proportions, bright wide-open eyes, a long body and short legs, and always a dark lump on one shoulder—his school backpack. To me this … Continue reading
Colin fills 3×5 index cards with imaginary planets, moons, and planetoids—the well-tooled cards hole-punched on one corner and clipped together with a plastic ring (no doubt his mother’s work). He presents the cards to me as a treasure. Flipping through … Continue reading
At age nine, Colin has entered a volatile stage. Tears and tantrums come easily, often, and unexpectedly. He talks loud much of the time, all but shouting in typical conversions. He commands and interrupts. He ignores repeated requests, even pleas, … Continue reading
Colin’s ABA* tutors, at least a dozen in the last five years, play a singular role in his life, even the ones that come and go after a few months. Several tutors have watched him grow up, rarely going more … Continue reading
To keep Colin occupied at church, I hand him a dozen blank index cards and a ball-point pen. He works steadily through the hour, head bent over the cards. He writes with care and pauses between words. I can’t tell … Continue reading
One Boy's Way of Knowing 