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At first, doctors brushed aside their concerns over his late speech develope: hand-eye, ard Then, subsequent tests confirmed their fears Doctors said autism, but my parents preferred to call it by the more nebulous name: pervasive developmental disorder I won't take the ti repercussions of that label Let s eventually morphed into a routine and pattern my parents could live with And part of that routineDylan's hand Yet, I wouldn't have it any other way

As we reached the front of the school that day, I finally found my voice "Dad, what happened? Is Dylan-" I spotted our Toyota, parked illegally in the red zone reserved for the school buses Already half a dozen buses had driven up and sat idling their ru of students to tumble out of their classrooured a way to convert the larger buses and trucks froly smoke belch fro ih of relief exploded fro ht, then-

I yanked on Dad's neatly pressed white shirtsleeve When he turned tofast-paced to the car, tears trickled from the corner of his eyes Myludicrous like, "Dad, do you wanthis distraught expression, the only thing I could think of was that he was in no et us killed before he'd finally get around to telling me what happened

He fumbled with the remote and unlocked the doors Not that Dylan had any interest in escaping the confines of the car One look told ht there, just hovering on the surface, able to converse with me in some fashion Mostly I can tell what he estures and body language But, in that moment, he could have been a s so he could sit, and folded his arms across his lap so his hands rested peacefully, one over the other His eyes were beyond vacant I used to think he was staring out at soht his attention It was only afterout; he was looking in Then I wondered-just what did he see in there?