My 10-year-old nephew is autistic. Not in a "quirky," "neurodiverse"
kind of way, but in a typical, sometimes agressive kind of way. When
our families go out together, as we often do, I like to pretend that
people are looking at us because of the eight adorable children
trailing us, but I know what they're really looking at is Jonah: Jonah
biting his hand in agitation, hitting his head in anger, or just
spinning, spinning, spinning in complete and utter joy. At those times,
it's fairly obvious that Jonah is autistic.
But sometimes it isn't so obvious.
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