He was a tough baby. Born a really low birth weight and it went even lower initially. Never slept through the night. We had a hell of a time getting him to bed or to take a nap. If he'd been my first kid, I wouldn't have had a second one. At two and a half years old, he hadn't said one word. Our pediatrician recommended we take him someplace to be evaluated. So we go to the Johns Hopkins Kennedy-Krieger hospital. The renowned Mecca of 'the spectrum". Our county Fairfax County, VA (where even the social workers drive Lexus cars) has all kinds of programs if you can get your kid into them. A letter from Kennedy-Krieger is the friggin gold standard. So we both go there one day (its a one hour drive to Baltimore) with my son. First, some goofy 20-something woman wants to see how he plays with toys. Autistic kids are notorious for lining things up (blocks, toys, etc.). He didn't do that. After about an hour of that BS, we go to see Dr. Boopity -- some Indian doctor with a mole the size of that guy in Austin Powers. I swear we were in the for all of 15 minutes and all I could do is look at that mole and think Jesus Christ lady, you can get that removed. in the end, she tells us that Alex (my son) is 'on the spectrum' and maybe, someday, 'he will be mainstreamed'. So we leave and my wife starts crying in the parking lot with visions of the kid spending his life in the retard trailer out back of the school (they don't do that anymore). So we wait for the blessed letter for a month. Two months. We send the guy in charge of the place a letter asking WTF is up. Finally we get a letter. Mrs. Feather came to Kennedy Kreiger. (No mention of Mr. Feather). It talked about how Alex lined up blocks. How he met with Dr. Simons (no, it was Boopity). Basically, they had no recollection of us coming there, but we gout our fucking letter. Got the kid in the program. Years later, he's a normal kid. Actually, he's a great kid. A little odd sometimes.