Milo - Autistic Warrior

© 2014 Elizabeth Haddon, Ed.D. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/17/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2036-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2035-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911121

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

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27

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32

Eight Years Later – Milo is Twenty Years Old

Day 1 Thursday

Day 2 Friday

The Weekend 3

Day 4 Monday

Day 5 Tuesday

Day 6 - Wednesday

Day 7 - Thursday

Day 8 - Friday

Day 9 - Saturday

Day 10 - Sunday

Day 11 - Monday

Day 12 - Tuesday

Day 13 Wednesday

Day 14 – Thursday

Day 15 – Friday

Day 16 – Saturday

1

Everyone is a genius.

But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree,

it will live its whole life believing it is stupid.

EINSTEIN

When will the torture be over? This is torture. This is torture. This teacher is a torturer. He tortures. He tortures. He tortures. This is torture time. Ancient History Torture Time.

Milo McCance rocked his body as he fixated on the clock in front of the classroom. Ten more minutes until he could leave.

Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes. Ten. Ten. Nine more minutes. Nine more minutes. Nine. Nine. Nine.

Mr. Graham caught sight of Milo staring at the clock, repeating the number over and over.

Eight more minutes. Eight. Eight. Eight.

As a teacher, Mr. Graham recognized the NASA-like intensity gripping Milo’s attention. He’s counting down the final minutes of class. As the other kids pushed through the door when the bell rang, he motioned Milo over to him.

Hey, Milo, how do you like history class?

Milo stood very still, eyes to the floor, and blurted, Torture.

No, smiled Mr. Graham, thinking Milo hadn’t understood the question. I asked how you like the class. You seemed interested in what we discussed today about Egypt.

Not interested. Not interested in dead people. Dead people are dead. My grandfather is dead. I don’t like mummies of dead people. I don’t want my grandfather to be a mummy. My grandfather is my father’s father. He’s not a mummy. Can I go now?

Liam Graham needed a moment to recover from Milo’s reaction to their study about Egypt. He nodded permission for Milo to leave and watched the boy half shuffle, half bounce down the hall.

Is it just my imagination or are more kids on the autistic spectrum being mainstreamed? Liam sat at his desk to prep for next week’s classes but found himself distracted by thoughts of Milo. He knew the wide discrepancy of autistic characteristics meant no two students with autism were alike. Even the behaviors of high functioning kids who populated his classroom over the years showed a variety of strengths and challenges on the spectrum. A few of the kids were able to fit in, make friends with each other and somehow survive the rigors of middle school culture. Milo didn’t seem to be one of them. Fitting in was not his strength.

Milo reminded Liam of some of his former autistic Ancient History students who were initially an enigma to him—

There was April, who constantly asked for the month as well as the year an historical event occurred. It made no difference to her that months were rarely included in ancient history records. Until Liam provided April with a month, her anxiety grew to overwhelming proportions. In desperation, Liam fabricated a random month along with whatever date, decade or century an event occurred. He forgave himself by never expecting his other students to remember the fake month. April was mollified enough so he could continue teaching.

Christopher, a boy so sensitive to noises, Liam traded in his old ticking wall clock for a silent atomic clock.

Henry, for whom the visual juxtaposition between present and past triggered anxiety, almost terror in him. Like many teachers, Liam brought his lessons to life by showing clips of documentaries or historical movies. Henry’s panic at seeing the world in ancient times caused him to pace, flap his hands and loudly recite his home address, as well as the addresses of his aunts, uncles, grandparents and doctor. To bypass Henry’s anxiety and outbursts, Liam emailed a description of an upcoming film to Henry’s parents before showing it, asking them to discuss and watch it with him. It worked. Somewhat.

Rachel, who refused to sit in the chair at her desk because it squeaked when she moved. Unfortunately, it seemed all the chairs squeaked to some degree when students sat in them. After testing chairs in other classrooms and finding none of them squeak-proof, Liam borrowed a pillow-type chair from the library as a solution. It worked. Somewhat.

And David, a boy who couldn’t stop talking. The distraction he caused in the classroom was profound. Liam gave David a microphone that plugged into a recording device. He told David the only way it worked was if David spoke softly into the microphone, soft enough so no one else could hear him. With practice, it worked. Somewhat.

The previous spring, Liam had attended an informational presentation on autism, offered by the Seattle Public School District. He recognized the tendrils connecting these previous students, each trailing their own version of panic and confusion behind them. Unable to articulate their needs, the autistic kids struggled in a prison of overwhelming sensation and stimulation. The success of their frantic search for a physical and emotional dimmer switch was dependent on the people around them…be they friend or foe, bully or guardian.

Since the presentation, Liam felt compelled to do more than placate or complain about these students. They deserved more from him; more from all their teachers. Nothing about middle school came easy for these kids. As far as he could tell, they strained to make sense of their surroundings every minute of every day. Their teachers’ frustration with their behavior and the bullying they endured from other students made school as chaotic as a war zone. With little hope of winning and no truce in sight, they faced daily confrontations with ever-changing rules, confusing situations and impatient people.

The vision of these students as battle-worn soldiers took shape in his mind. He imagined them dodging bullets. Explosions pelting them from all sides. The word brave shot into mind. These children are the bravest people I’ve ever known. I can’t stop all the bullets aimed at them, but I can damn well make sure none of them comes from me, Liam resolved.

He glanced at the list of flexible teaching strategies on the wall by his desk - each strategy inspired by one of his students.

Extraordinarily literal, Milo was the student who prompted Liam to add avoid idioms to his list.

At the beginning of the current school year when he asked a question to which no one responded, he teased, What are you guys, a school of trout? Your mouths are open but nothing’s coming out.

Most of the students laughed at his joke but Milo became agitated. He shouted out names of different kinds of trout.

"Rainbow trout and steelhead trout are from the same species. Rainbow trout like fresh water. Steelhead trout like fresh and seawater. Brown trout are like rainbow trout because they like fresh water.

Milo. Milo, that’s enough. Liam walked to Milo’s desk, desperate to curtail the flow of trout noise coming out of Milo’s mouth and slow his almost violent rocking. He glanced up to check on the other students. They looked like they were watching a horror movie.

Sea bass are trout. Even though they’re called bass, they’re like steelhead trout because they like fresh and seawater. Brook trout aren’t really trout. Golden trout are the state fish of California. Cutthroat trout are really salmon.

Come with me, Liam commanded. To his great surprise, Milo followed him out of the classroom as he continued his trout monologue.

Redband trout in the Columbia River and tributaries of the Sacramento River are similar to rainbow trout. The Great Basin redband trout are found in the periphery of the Great Basin in Nevada. Trout are in the Salomid family.

Once in the hallway, Liam acknowledged Milo’s impressive collection of trout facts, hoping his statement would calm the boy. When it didn’t, Liam asked Milo point blank what he was so upset about.

I don’t want to be a trout. No more history class of trout.

Mr. Graham quickly understood that Milo took him literally when he called the class a school of trout.

I don’t want you to be a trout. That’s a saying, a kind of joke. I can see it upset you.

I’m not a trout. Trout live in water. Humans can’t live in water. If I can’t answer a question, I don’t want to become a trout.

After a short discussion, Milo believed Liam didn’t want him or any of the students to be a trout. Whether they could answer a question or not, Milo and the other students would stay in the class as themselves. Teacher and student agreed no one was a trout, and from now on Liam wouldn’t refer to the class in that way. Milo nodded.

As they returned to the room, Milo announced to the class, Mr. Graham likes humans more than trout, and we’re humans. The class sat speechless, and after a few false starts, Liam corralled everyone’s attention again. An inkling of how Milo might react to the events in ancient history—war, poverty, plagues, and dead people—tickled the back of his brain.

Liam let those memories fade and returned to prepping for next week’s classes. Except for his distaste for mummies, Milo seemed to settle into the rigors of grade six history class.

The next day, Milo suffered through more talk of Egypt and mummies. He left history class and, eyes directed toward the floor, weaved through the crowded hall to math class. The only place and time in school Milo felt less on edge was in math. He didn’t have to count seconds on the clock or books on the shelves. Ms. Winter, his math teacher, talked about numbers. Even though Milo already knew what she taught, numbers relaxed him. He settled in his chair as Reuben sat down in front of him. Fixated on Reuben’s dingy white shirt, Milo uttered Mummy.

Reuben turned around. What’d you call me? Did you just call me a mummy?

I said mummy.

Reuben ruined math class for him. Why did Reuben have to sit in front of me? Why did I say mummy? From past experience, Milo predicted the next words to come out of Reuben’s mouth.

Reuben yelled, Freak. If anyone’s a mummy you are. You better just shut your mouth if you want to keep those teeth.

Ms. Winter turned from the whiteboard, irritated at the boys for interrupting her lesson. What is the problem?

Reuben shouted, The freak called me a mummy and I told him to keep his mouth shut.

All right, all right. We’re here for math. We’ll have no more talk of mummies, freaks or mouths. Ms. Winter resumed the class as though nothing had happened. She didn’t seem to care about Reuben making Milo lose all his teeth. Milo had to count all the scratches on his desk, 242, before he could even hear her voice again.

I’m not a freak; but you’re a bully. At least he didn’t say it out loud.

That night, alone in his bedroom, Milo wondered if Reuben was right. Maybe he really was a freak. A lot of kids called him a freak. They called a few other kids freaks too, but those other kids had at least one friend who didn’t call them names.

Milo never called anyone a freak. And Milo never had a friend.

No one at school wanted to be his friend. His whole criterion for friendship was he could be himself and the other person wouldn’t call him a freak. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what friendship was. If he did find a friend, how would he know what to do with him?

After not doing his homework, he struggled into his pajamas and went to sleep. He dreaded the thought of sunrise and another day of school.

Milo hated school. Well, mostly. He hated everything but Mr. Graham, the numbers in math class and the cafeteria food. Days like today, he even hated math class.

2

"We kill all the caterpillars,

then complain there are no butterflies."

JOHN MARSDEN

Milo’s father, Arthur, told him, Don’t say everything you think out loud. Nobody says everything they think out loud. This statement both confused and frightened Milo. How could he decipher between permissible and inappropriate thoughts?

Last week, his mother, Winnie, made whatever it was for dinner. Milo declared it putrid. His father shot him a stern look and reminded Milo to keep his thoughts about the dinner to himself. The dinner was putrid. Why couldn’t he say it was putrid? Putrid described exactly what it was. Besides, he learned that word in science class so he knew it wasn’t bad.

Sometimes, when his mother ordered Chinese or pizza, Milo knew he could relax. Otherwise, he felt nervous at dinner, afraid he would say the wrong thing and make his mother frown. But she appeared nervous just like him. She put food out, immediately apologizing for how horrible it would taste. If she knew it would taste so bad, why did she cook it that way? He didn’t understand his mother. If he had to go to school to get better at knowing things, why didn’t she have to go to school to get better at cooking things?

Milo suggested she take a cooking class. It seemed like a thought he could say out loud, like trying to solve a problem. A dinner problem. But he was wrong. His mother started crying.

Why are you always so mean to me? You say horrible things to hurt my feelings. Arthur, make him stop!

His father looked at Milo with a stern face and spoke in a stern voice. Your mother makes us dinner because she loves us. Milo, apologize to your mother for hurting her feelings.

I wanted to help make dinner better, Milo announced in his loud flat voice. The only good part was his father didn’t make him actually apologize. They sat there and ate the horrible-tasting food, and Milo listened to his father say how delicious it was.

No matter what Milo said, his mother blamed him for hurting her feelings just like the kids at school blamed him for being stupid and ruining everything.

Most evenings, Milo stayed in his room. He read math books from the school library, played his favorite video game, Nemesis of the Roman Empire, or taught himself to program with his robotics kit. He heard the TV downstairs. His parents seemed to love TV. Milo found television either disturbing or boring—except for the science shows. He enjoyed Dr. Who and watched every episode. He also liked Mythbusters, the Nova series, and specials about the universe, neurology and human physiology.

Once he saw The Big Bang Theory, which he liked because of all the science and math. But the jokes were strangely familiar and disconcerting. He tried to figure out how the audience moved from location to location. When he failed to find a logical explanation, he asked his father who promptly explained laugh tracks. Milo decided any show that needed to tell the audience when to laugh was, by default, stupid. He did, however, wonder if a laugh track might be handy at school to cue him to laugh at things other kids thought were funny. After a few weeks in middle school, he realized most of his peers thought mean, nasty words and actions to be a form of entertainment. A laugh track wouldn’t benefit him, especially since he was the target of their actions. He concluded that mastering the Art of Disappearing would be much more useful than learning to laugh at mean stuff.

Nemesis of the Roman Empire was a war game centered on the Punic Wars between Carthage and Rome. Milo loved exploring places in the game. He pretended to be different people and wanted to act like a Roman warrior at school. He never could. Milo McCance was Milo McCance, scared of making people mad and mainly trying to disappear.

In Ancient History class the next morning, he focused on the math concepts of Pi and Phi, so he could ignore the mummy talk. Out of the corner of his ear, Milo heard Mr. Graham announce tomorrow’s class would move from Egypt to Rome. They would begin the study of the Roman Empire.

Milo said The Roman Empire out loud. Some of the kids laughed, but Mr. Graham smiled and asked Milo if he ever read about the Roman Empire.

Punic Wars. I play a video game about the Punic Wars. The Punic Wars were between Rome and Carthage. They’re called Punic because the Carthaginians were first the Phoenicians. Punic is Latin for Phoenician. They spoke Latin.

Hey, you know about the Punic Wars? his classmate, Harry, asked. I play that game too. Harry didn’t sound like he was making fun of him—but Milo wasn’t sure.

It’s a video game, was all Milo could say.

"Dude, he knows that, he just said he plays it." Lee rolled her eyes.

Mr. Graham looked at the class. Wow, a video game about the Roman Empire. Of course. Why not? Who else plays that game?

Only Harry and Milo played the game. But Mr. Graham’s question opened the door to a bombastic uproar about video games. Mr. Graham laughed and raised his arms as though he had to protect himself. "All right, all right! You guys like video games! I just never thought about a video game of the Roman Empire actually teaching you stuff. That’s really cool. So, Harry and Milo, you two will be experts when we talk about the Punic Wars."

Later that day, while Milo sat alone during lunch, he remembered what Mr. Graham said: Milo will be an expert. No one at school ever said anything like that about him. Even though he scored 100% on all his math tests, Ms. Winter never praised him in math class. Instead, she acted upset with him, especially when he corrected her mistakes. She seemed nervous like his mother. His mouth twisted into a happy smile. Mr. Graham thought he was an expert.

Before dinner, Milo reminded himself to be nice to his mother, which meant he shouldn’t say anything about her cooking. He decided to talk about the Punic Wars and what Mr. Graham said. Maybe his mother would smile at him because somebody thought he was an expert at something. Maybe she would want to become an expert at cooking. No. No talk of cooking.

The food was terrible. His mother made a piece of meat hard to cut and harder to chew. But he didn’t say that out loud.

We’re going to study the Punic Wars in history class. Mr. Graham said Harry and me will be experts.

Not Harry and me, Harry and I, his mother said. Her voice dripped with distain.

With lowered eyes, Milo watched his father’s hand move as though he were about to say something. The hand returned to the table as he thought better of it.

Milo wondered, Is Winnie an expert in the Punic Wars? When did she meet Harry?

His father said softly, Your mother wants you to remember, when you say something that means ‘we,’ you need to use ‘I’ instead of ‘me.’ You would say, ‘Harry and I will be experts’ because you could also say, ‘We are experts.’ Now what’s this about the Punic Wars?

Milo held his knife and fork in his hands, not eating. I play a game of the Punic Wars. I said it in class. I play a video game with Punic Wars. The Punic Wars were between Rome and Carthage. They’re called Punic because the Carthaginians used to be the Phoenicians. Punic is Latin for Phoenician. They spoke Latin. That’s what I said in class. He loaded his fork and took a bite.

That Roman Empire game you play? That video game is about the Punic Wars?

Milo glanced at his father to see if he was teasing him. Why do people ask a question about something they just heard the answer to?

The Punic Wars.

So you’re studying the Roman Empire in history class?

No.

But what about the Punic Wars and you and Harry being experts?

"Mr. Graham said we will learn about Rome. I like Rome. Now we’re studying about Egypt. I hate Egypt. They made mummies. I hate mummies. I said it in class."

Why do you hate mummies? It surprised Arthur that Milo felt strongly about anything—not since he was a little kid and had screaming tantrums.

You have to be dead first like grandpa before you become a mummy. Grandpa is not a mummy.

Winnie slapped her palm on the table and shouted, Of course he’s not a mummy! Whoever said he was? Milo knew he said something wrong because his mother shouted. She’s mad at me. I said grandpa was not a mummy. Why is she mad?

Milo, his father spoke in his soft voice, you’re correct. Grandpa’s not a mummy even though he is, well, dead. Making mummies was something the Egyptians did to honor the people they loved. It’s different now. We think good thoughts about people who’ve died and that’s how we honor them.

Winnie dropped her fork on her plate. Milo covered his ears at the fork’s clang onto the plate. "Arthur, can we not talk about this at the dinner table? Just because you’re a history professor, doesn’t mean I have to be bombarded by unpleasantness while I eat."

His father was quiet. Milo heard him take a breath and let it out.

You’re right Winnie. Arthur nodded quickly, determined to keep this conversation with Milo afloat. Let’s talk more about what Milo is an expert in. So, the Punic Wars between Rome and Carthage. Do you know how many there were?

Three wars. In BC or BCE. That’s Before Christ or Before the Common Era. I don’t know what Christ has to do with when things happen. I think it should be BCE.

Arthur skipped the issue of Christ and calendars. Instead, waving his fork, he said, Yes! Three wars. Who started the wars?

Carthage. They needed help. Rome helped them. Then Rome conquered Carthage using boats.

That’s correct! Do you know why they fought? Arthur was flabbergasted at his son’s basic but growing knowledge.

Rome was big and fought all the time to get bigger. Roman people liked to be big and scare everyone, so after they helped Carthage they conquered it.

Milo had never talked so much at the dinner table. His mother seemed nervous when he talked so he stayed quiet. Right now Milo wanted to talk. His father asked questions he knew the answers to.

And he wasn’t even in trouble.

Milo continued, Rome started small and got bigger and bigger. I have a map. Maps show land and water. Rome started wars with other countries so they could own more land and water.

Milo, sometimes people who govern a country are hungry for power. They think conquering other countries will give them that power, and they’ll become the most powerful people in the world. I think that’s why Rome wanted to get bigger and bigger, because it made them feel powerful. They wanted to be important, his father said.

Milo fidgeted from excitement. He and his father were talking. They became important. Mr. Graham said that’s why we study them in history class. We study important people who are dead. But I don’t like the Egyptians. The Romans are better. They didn’t make mummies.

Milo! He visualized his mother’s face by the sound of her voice. No more mummies at the dinner table. He forgot.

Well, I’m glad you’re studying the Romans from now on. Maybe we can talk again sometime, Arthur jumped in.

Can I go now?

Arthur looked at his son and nodded. Of course. Have a good sleep.

Milo gathered his plate and utensils as he left the dinner table.

Milo. Say goodnight. Winnie could barely contain her irritation. The boy didn’t have the common sense to say good night.

Goodnight.

Goodnight, Milo, Arthur said.

Winnie sat silent.

When he was younger, Milo’s mother and father came upstairs to say goodnight before he fell asleep. They agreed to come at seven thirty but were always late. He became extremely nervous as he waited and listened. When they finally arrived, he screamed at them to leave. Now, he was the only one who went to his room after dinner. His parents watched TV.

Milo was happy about Rome. Rome was the closest thing he had to a friend. Harry liked Rome, too. Maybe someday Harry will be his friend.

History class will be better with all the Rome talk.

3

As a matter of fact, we are none of us above criticism, so let us bear with each other’s faults.

L. FRANK BAUM

A few evenings later at dinner, Milo’s father asked him if he was still studying Rome.

The Fall of the Roman Empire. Milo practically bellowed. Mr. Graham said Rome fell. They got too big and kept killing their emperors. The army got tired and lots of people were poor and needed more food. Instead of Rome getting bigger and bigger, it got smaller and smaller. Mr. Graham said if you get too big you have to fall. But where did they fall?

Their bodies didn’t fall, his father smiled. "It was their power that fell. Their power over other countries and other people. They couldn’t keep on conquering more people when their own citizens were poor and hungry. People couldn’t find jobs because the slaves did all the work."

Milo’s mouth was full of food, which didn’t stop him from shouting, Slaves. People who work for free.

Arthur always loved talking about the history of the Roman Empire, but never so much as right now. He leaned forward as he spoke with his son. Yes, slaves don’t get paid for their work. They’re owned by their master and have to do whatever he demands. When the Romans took over a country, they made the people who lived in that country their slaves. Since slaves don’t get paid, business owners and farmers used them instead of hiring workers who do get paid. Fewer and fewer non-slaves had jobs. There was high unemployment, like in the United States today.

High unemployment. People couldn’t find work. No jobs, no work, no money, no food, Milo proclaimed as he swallowed another bite. The United States used to have slaves, like Rome did. That’s another similarity between the United States and Rome. Except, we didn’t conquer anybody to get our slaves. We snuck into countries and kidnapped people who lived there. We put the kidnapped people in boats, brought them to the United States, and made them our slaves.

Winnie put down her knife and fork and collapsed into the back of her chair. "First mummies and now slaves. Do we really have to have these kinds of conversations at dinner?"

Not wanting to flash his irritation at her interruption, Arthur lowered his eyes as he composed his facial expression. "Winnie, I’m enjoying this discussion. But, is there something you want to talk about?"

Glaring at her husband, Winnie snarled, No. I’d like to eat my dinner in peace and quiet.

Still preoccupied with his own thoughts, Milo continued. I would rather be made a slave because my country was conquered. That way, I would know why I was a slave. Everyone I knew would also be a slave. It would make sense. But if I was walking down a path thinking about math and all of a sudden I was captured and made a slave, it wouldn’t make sense. I wouldn’t understand why it happened.

Arthur shifted in his chair, knowing Winnie’s anger was building but wanting to continue talking with Milo.

Oblivious to the mounting tension, Milo kept talking. Mr. Graham told us the United States has a lot in common with the Roman Empire when it fell. I don’t believe him. You have a job. We have a house. Winnie gives us food. I don’t think we’ll fall.

Arthur was startled out of his reflection on the contextual implications of enslavement when he heard Milo call his mother Winnie. Winnie? he asked Milo.

That’s her name.

"But she’s your mother. You call her Mother. Or Mom."

Her name is Winnie. Milo sat forward in his chair and rocked gently.

What do you call me?

Your name is Arthur. I call you Dad. Milo’s rocking became a bit more forceful.

"Why do you call me Dad, but your mother Winnie?"

"Winnie doesn’t ever like me. You like me sometimes so I call you Dad."

Banging her fist on the table, Winnie shouted, Oh Arthur! This is absurd. I won’t stay at this table and listen to this.

Milo’s body stiffened as he rocked more vigorously, his eyes focused on the middle of the table. He didn’t see Arthur shoot an irritated look at Winnie. He missed Winnie’s expression of surprise and disgust, right before she stormed into the living room and turned on the TV.

Arthur stopped eating. Milo, why do you think your mother doesn’t like you?

She doesn’t want me to talk. She doesn’t want to talk to me, except when she’s mad. Milo’s voice was completely flat.

Arthur stayed quiet. He couldn’t disagree with his son, especially after Winnie’s behavior at the table.

She never talks to me. Except when she’s mad, Milo repeated. His rocking slowed.

And so you think she doesn’t like you?

"I don’t think she doesn’t like me."

I don’t understand. Arthur shook his head.

"She doesn’t like me."

But I like you?

Milo leaned back in his chair.

You didn’t used to but now you do.

Why do you think that?

You used to just tell me to stop doing things. ‘Stop crying. Stop rocking.’ Now you talk to me about the Roman Empire. People talk to people they like. You told me that. Milo glanced up at his father.

Milo, when you think your mother doesn’t like you, how do you feel? Mad, sad, glad or scared?

Confused. I don’t know what I did to make her not like me. But I did it and now she doesn’t like me.

His curiosity growing, Arthur asked, Do you think she used to like you?

I think she might have when I was a baby, before she knew me.

How could he know that? Arthur wondered.

Do you like her?

Milo’s chin seemed to rest on his chest. Arthur could barely hear him. No. I don’t like people who make me nervous. She makes me nervous because she’s nervous.

Do I make you nervous?

"No. You used to make me nervous because you didn’t like me and I didn’t know why. It’s like being a kidnapped slave, you keep wondering why but it never makes sense. Even though I don’t understand why you didn’t like me, I think now you do like me."

Arthur smiled, I do like you, Milo. I like you very much. I’m glad you told me these things. I need time to think about everything you’ve said before we talk about it again. It’s time you went upstairs to do your homework and get ready for bed.

Yes. I’ll get ready for bed. Milo walked his plate into the kitchen, putting it next to the sink.

Okay son, good night.

As soon as he heard Milo’s bedroom door close, Arthur immediately went to the living room to check on Winnie. She looked like a tightly wound bird, perched on the worn sofa. Why would she opt for watching television instead of participating in the most important conversation this family ever had?

Winnie, I know what Milo said tonight at the dinner table upset you. It can’t be easy to hear Milo talk so bluntly about how he perceives us and what he believes we feel about him. But they’re just his eleven-year-old boy perceptions. As we keep talking with him, those perceptions will change. For some reason he started talking to us, and right now I’m thrilled to hear whatever he says. This past week we’ve seen a side of him we’ve never seen before.

Winnie clenched her fists and jumped to her feet. "Really, Arthur? Because Milo talked about the Punic Wars, something he learned in a stupid video game, you think all of a sudden there’s a new side to him? Our son is autistic and that is the only side to him. We agreed to let him live in his autistic world, to teach him not to offend people, and accept him as he is. He’s someone we can never understand because he’s so different. I refuse to engage in meaningless conversations with him. If you do, you’re as out of it as he is. Do you imagine these conversations about the Roman Empire mean anything to him?" Her dark eyes flashed with anger.

"Winnie, he’s never talked to us like this before. Of course these conversations about the Roman Empire mean something to him. He goes to school every day like other kids. We have to give him a chance. He’s older now and wonders about things. We’ve been treating him like he can’t think. Not only can he think but obviously he does."

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "No. He doesn’t think. He babbles. He parrots. That is not thinking."

Arthur felt as though she’d slapped him. Winnie, stop…

No, Arthur, you stop. She pushed her words through clenched teeth. I’m trying to keep our family sane. We knew since he was a toddler he would never be normal, and we were told to keep our expectations low. Now you’re going against everything the doctor told us. I won’t have it.

"I’m not going against anything. Arthur yelled in exasperation. I’m going with him. I’m following his lead. He was proud about being named an ‘expert’ and wanted us to know. I’m thrilled he’s interested in Roman history, not just because I’m a history professor. I’d be ecstatic about any topic he shared with us. We’ve talked more in the last week than we have in the past five years. Surely you’re as curious as I am about what’s happening in his head and who he is."

"I know who he is. Winnie began a sarcastic chant. He’s a boy with autism. He has no social skills. He can’t relate to other people. He freaks out at a moment’s notice. He doesn’t understand most of what’s happening around him. And he will never change. She glared at her husband, her expression brimming with recrimination. You’re making something out of nothing. We’ve worked hard to teach him to keep his thoughts to himself, to control his outbursts. Now, with all these questions you’re asking him, we’ve ended back where we started."

Which is…? Nothing coming out of Winnie’s mouth made any sense to Arthur.

Oh Arthur, don’t you see? Her arms moved on their own as she spat out her words. He isn’t interested in Rome or history or anything! He’s using all this to reject me again. He’s rejected me since he was a little boy with everything he did. He’s still rejecting me. Calling me ‘Winnie.’ Nothing has changed. I want you to stop egging him on like this. We were clearly told not to get personally involved with him.

Arthur was wide-eyed, his mouth twisted and his brow wrinkled. Winnie, he’s our son. We can’t help but be personally involved with him.

"How dare you mock me. You know damn well what I mean. I won’t let you make a fool of me every time we sit down to dinner. It’s bad enough I have one person in the family rejecting me. I won’t have two." Winnie returned to the couch, her body stiff with steely determination to end this conversation once and for all.

But this isn’t about you or your feelings of rejection, Arthur pleaded. "Winnie, he’s a different person now. It’s time to leave all that in the past, to let it go, to discover who he is today. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we can do it together."

I won’t discuss this any more. I’ve told you my position, she turned her face to the TV screen.

Winnie, please don’t do this. He’s our only child.

Thank God.

Winnie!

Arthur walked into the kitchen to calm himself. What the hell is the matter with her? She’s the one doing the rejecting. I’ve got to find a way to her maternal underbelly. If it still exists.

When he could breathe normally, he