a friend called  Mumbah

The school bus stopped at the corner to drop off my 11-yearold son. I watched from our front window, praying he’d had one of his good days. But even before the bus doors hissed open, I heard Justin screaming. Oh, Lord, what’s happened now? I thought, flinging open our door. He ran toward the house hunched over, his head down so I couldn’t see his face—only the hair on top of his head. He was shaking his arms and swinging his lunch box like a club.

In a lot of ways, Justin was a typical fourth grader. He went to a public school. He liked music and swimming, played Little League baseball, excelled at board games and loved animals. But he also had autism, a neurological and developmental