"Your son is a menace to our school, since day one," the kindergarten teacher, Mr. Kazuo said. "On the first day of kindergarten, Sammy hit a little girl at playtime. A week later, at lunchtime, he screamed like hell and hit himself in the head, as we served grilled fish with pickled veggies and steamed rice. His screaming scared our students, and our students ran from him, panicking. And he eats nothing but brownies and peanut butter crackers, and he's still in diapers - a year after preschool."
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Kazuo," Harold blushed in shame, "but my son is a loner. I know he can't speak yet, but I've heard of talented late talkers. When I was a young boy, I didn't speak until preschool, and I preferred playing toys all by myself, too. I also was a bedwetter, and wore reusable diapers a lot. Maybe he's just anxious."
"Are you sure about that?" Mr. Kazuo asked. "His behavior is dangerous and horrible. I've seen lots of anxious, late talker, and otherwise delayed kids who adapt beautifully to school, but not him. Those misdemeanors he committed aren't even the worse ones. I have more to tell you about."
"Doesn't he need time to adapt?" Harold shrugged, frowning. "He's quiet, but mostly well behaved at home, unless you try to interact with him. I know he's a picky eater, but when I was his same age, I wanted to eat nothing but chicken nuggets, chicken katsu, anpan, and french fries without ketchup. Maybe he'll outgrow his limited food choices, or I spoiled him, or he's choosing to be bad."
"This time at lunch," Mr. Kazuo continued, "we served soboro-don rice, pickled daikon radishes, and candied black beans. Your son, Sammy, covered his nose and mouth, made weird grunts and gagging noises, and he spilled his food on the table, by flipping the tray. Then he ran from the table, spilled our classroom's toy buckets, threw toys everywhere, and he screamed nonstop. When I tried to calm down and restrain him, he bit me on the arm. I've worked with delayed and special needs students, but nobody as violent, socially withdrawn, and out-of-control as your son. Harold, I've had it. I didn't call the police, since no one was seriously injured, but your son belongs in a mental hospital, not in a school. The only alternative I'm giving you, as opposed to a lunatic asylum, you can put your son into an alternative educational placement. Wherever he goes, please get him away from our kids. If he acts out one more time, I WILL call the police."
Harold's heart sank. "Alright, I'm a terrible father with a disobedient son. I'll pull Sammy out of school, so he won't get thrown into a place full of strangers, who'll medicate, coerce, and inject drugs into him. He's going to be educated somewhere else, so your students can be safe and happy."
"That's good to hear," Mr. Kazuo replied, calming down. "Are you sure your son doesn't have a disorder? Some of my students are mute, or they have emotional issues or learning disabilities, such as dyslexia or dyspraxia. I have no idea what disorder your son has. None of my special needs students are as violent, bad-at-school, or socially withdrawn as Sammy. Have a nice day, and take care of your son." Mr. Kazuo still felt angry, leaving the room, wishing Sammy wasn't at the kindergarten. Sammy was safe at home, with Harold's wife and children, so Harold was alone at the principal's office.
"He's right. Sammy should stay home and rot, I guess," Harold frowned, sniffing, lightly crying by himself. "I wanted him to excel at school. But he's too dangerous to himself and everyone around him. And he keeps failing basic subjects. I thought he'd like to eat some school food, or play on the playground. On the playground, he stacks stones by himself, and when someone tells him 'it's time to come inside!' he yells and hits someone, or he wanders off. He still can't write, dress himself, or do simple math equations, not even 2 2. I could go one, but I'll drive myself home, using my Blue Chevy. Sammy chose that car for me, by pointing to it."
Harold drove home alone, listening to the song, Highway Blues, on a loop.
At home, Sammy was playing toy trains, eating a fudge brownie. Harold's wife, Kazuko, secretly baked some veggie powder into the brownies. Thankfully, Sammy couldn't detect the veggies, just the brownie. Sammy always loved drinking fatty cow's milk, but Kazuko switched the family's milk to cashew milk and almond milk.
As Sammy sipped his cashew milk, he took small bites of his brownie. He fixated on a blue toy train, having no interest in any other toy train.
One of Sammy's older brothers, Kenji, joined him. Kenji was 13 years old at the time, Sammy was 5. "Sammy, me and one of your older sisters, Uma, purchased some cool toys. We were at the toy store. We purchased a Shinkansen train set, a dinosaur anatomy model puzzle, and Bomber Soldier action figures." He picked up toys from the paper bag, trying to gain Sammy's attention. Sammy acted deaf, ignoring him.
"Huh? Sammy? Aren't you speaking yet?" Kenji asked.
Uma entered the room, too. She carried a small paper bag of toys. "Sammy, these are paper planes. I got them for free, as a gift from the store. I also got extra toy dinosaurs." Sammy still showed no interest. Uma was 8 and a half years old.
"Sammy acts a lot like his eldest sister, Touka," Kenji said. "Touka's in a self-contained special education classroom. They say she has intellectual disabilities. Maybe Sammy has a disability too." Touka was 13. Kenji still wanted to approach Sammy, so he picked up a shinkansen train, approaching Sammy quietly.
"Sammy, let's play with the train!" Kenji said, smiling. He put the Shinkansen train onto the train tracks. Sammy became very upset. He groaned and yelled, tipping the Shinkansen train over.
"Sammy, what's wrong?" Kenji asked.
"He's such a strange kid," Uma shrugged, frowning. "What kid wouldn't love Shinkansen trains?"
-
When Harold came home, he rang the doorbell. Kazuko inspected it, saying "Who's the nicest husband on Planet Bomber?"
"It's me, Harold, I guess," Harold replied. "This is urgent. Please open the door." So, Kazuko kindly opened the door, letting Harold inside.
"What's the matter, honey? You seem sad," Kazuko asked.
"Sammy got expelled from kindergarten," Harold replied, frowning. "I, a grown man, am actually crying over this. He bit a little girl, he threw toys everywhere, he hits himself, he won't interact with other children, he's an extremely picky eater, and he fails the easiest subjects. His teacher, Mr. Kazuo, threatened to call the police on Sammy for his violent behavior. He says my son will either be put into a mental hospital, or he will be educated somewhere else. I chose the latter, so Sammy won't be hospitalized."
"That's very sad," Kazuko replied, pouring herself a glass of chocolate almond milk. "When I gave birth to Sammy, I expected him to become a diligent, obedient boy. I wanted him to be a Bomberman soldier, or a lumberjack. Or, at least, excel in school and make friends."
"He won't be doing any of that, obviously," Harold frowned, sniffing lightly, trying to hold back the tears. "You gave birth to a terrible little boy. I reject fathering him, but I cannot kill him. I want him to improve."
"My voice sounds strange, because I'm on my menstrual period," Kazuko replied. "If it weren't for my children playing toys, video games, and helping out with housework, I'd sit alone in my bedroom, crying in loneliness. Sammy is so strange, but please let him live. There are too many horror stories of parents killing their disobedient kids. I know his behavior is tough, but never give up."
Harold noticed a sweet smell, feeling a bit happier. "Do I smell brownies again?"
"Yes, I baked Sammy another batch of brownies," Kazuko replied, "but this time, I added chocolate veggie nutritional powder. It adds extra protein and vitamins. Good for a growing boy - who still doesn't eat meat or veggies."
"Sammy used to like scrambled eggs," Harold added, "but at age 3, he had a temper tantrum around them. Maybe it was the smell of cooked egg yolks. We can't even get him to drink broth or smoothies."
"Harold," Kazuko frowned, sipping up some chocolate almond milk, through an edible strawberry straw. "I think there's something seriously wrong with Sammy. I've been told to watch his development, and he is developing very oddly. His extreme picky eating, his violent behaviors, and his extremely limited interests concern me the most. He also has very poor gross motor skills and fine motor skills, both of his assets are very poor. I know you won't lock him up in a lunatic asylum, but he needs to see special doctors."
"Roger," Harold nodded, immediately logging onto his touchscreen phone. Browsing the internet, he made an appointment for Sammy to see a pediatric development specialist.
-
The next day, Kenji had to help Sammy get in the car. Sammy was panicking and crying, massively distressed by the change in his routine. To keep Sammy safe, Kenji had to buckle up Sammy into a massive, extra car seat - and make sure he didn't escape. Sammy is prone to wandering, and Sammy worried about having to receive injections. Injections, to Sammy, felt like knives piercing him alive. A mere prick, when it enters the skin, would make him shriek, scream, and squirm uncontrollably.
"Sammy, it's OK, stay in your car seat," Kenji said. To help Sammy calm down, Kenji gave Sammy his favorite picture books about cars and trains. Uma gave Sammy a rainbow marble maze toy.
"It's OK, Sammy, you're going to the doctor's office," Uma said. She gave Sammy a picture book about visiting the doctor's office. "It won't take long. No shots today," she said, using a notepad, drawing a cross-out sign on a drawing of a vaccine. Sammy calmed down, but he kept moaning and grunting, so Kenji gave Sammy a pacifier.
At the doctors, Sammy calmly fell asleep in Kenji's arms. "This boy's getting heavy," Kenji smiled, gently carrying him into the building, as Kazuko, Harold, and Uma supervised him. "All those brownies and peanut butter crackers Sammy eats... those foods aren't low in calories, you know," Kenji also said. Sammy didn't, and couldn't say anything. Sammy is nonverbal.
Inside the doctor's office, Kenji tried to engage Sammy in playing toys. Kenji played action figures and toy spaceships, but Sammy had no interest in toys - except for cars and trains.
"Sammy! Do you wanna play?" Kenji asked. "Captain B. is being kidnapped by aliens on a spaceship! You don't wanna play? Fine… I'll save him."
Uma and Kazuko played toys with Kenji, and since only Harold and Sammy had to see the doctors, Kenji, Uma, and Kazuko could proudly keep playing.
Suddenly, a doctor opened the door, saying "Sammy? Harold?" and Harold immediately picked up Sammy by the shoulders. Sammy hated being touched, so he grunted and squirmed. Inside the doctor's office, Sammy was introduced to a hearing specialist. Sammy frequently acted deaf, and didn't respond to people calling his name, or to people's commands. After the hearing test was conducted, they learned Sammy has excellent hearing. He isn't deaf.
"We gave Sammy a headphone hearing test," the hearing specialist said. "It emitted various volumes and pitches of beeps. He nodded his head to each one. When he looked away and I said 'toy car!' he turned around and responded quickly. He checked both of his ears, and his ears are fine. His hearing is fine. Deafness has been ruled out."
Next, Sammy was evaluated, by a different, female specialist, for social skills and obedience, and had devastating results. "Sammy is totally socially withdrawn. He doesn't make eye contact, he is completely nonverbal, he engages in repetitive behaviors, and if something happens outside his comfort zone, he reacts in violent panic. He shows no interest in anything outside cars and trains. I believe he has a serious developmental disorder, but we have to evaluate him a bit more, prior to pinpointing what exact disorder he has."
Sammy was evaluated by a female occupational therapist and a male feeding therapist. The OT said "Sammy cannot write, dress himself, or stay focused on a task. When I gave him an easy animal puzzle, he looked away and rocked his head, flapping his arms. He panics, when trying to button his own shirt. You told us that Sammy lost his toileting skills at age 3, so he's in diapers. He wants to stay on one task. When I change tasks, he grunts, flaps hands, and covers his ears. He also bites himself, coos, and bangs his head on the wall. He bites and drools on his shirt collar. He needs a chewy toy for that, and I'll write down extra tools he needs."
The feeding therapist said "Sammy is an extremely picky eater. He eats only with his fingers, can barely hold a culinary utensil, and he drinks nothing but milk. I tried to introduce him to baked chicken nuggets, cauliflower cheese puffs, and peanut butter chocolate cereal, but he gags on everything besides brownies, milk, and peanut butter crackers. You also told me that Sammy has horrific vomiting and bloating episodes, on a regular basis. Sammy did #2 in his diaper earlier, so he got a diaper change, and he's getting a stool sample. I strongly recommend giving him digestive enzymes, multi probiotic yogurts and foods, and this feeding therapy cookbook."
The stool sample was finished, and it revealed that Sammy had some painful, bad bacterial infections in his gut. A homeopathic doctor suggested starting Sammy on essential oils, not to cure his developmental condition, of course, but to help him improve. He recommended the oils of cilantro, orange, cedar, blue chamomile, and rosemary, all diluted with coconut oil, and rubbed onto Sammy's feet with soft socks each night before sleep.
As the results came in, Harold was sitting still by himself, checking his emails on his touchscreen phone. Suddenly, a doctor opened the door, and he and Harold walked into another room. Sammy was all done with the tests, so he was back in the waiting room.
"Harold, we ran a series of tests on Sammy," the doctor said. "The results are devastating. You need to see the papers."
Harold's heart raced in fear, so he took a deep breath. "I feel extremely anxious, and it's so cold in here, even with my jacket." The doctor gave him a lavender oil spray, and Harold sprayed it on his wrists, calming down. Then, he looked at the papers.
"According to the results," the doctor said, "Sammy has severe autism."