Chapter 16: When Going Away to School Goes Away

Every morning we wait for the school bus at the bottom of the driveway. Sometimes we pretend to be animals: T, a tiger, and me, a flamingo. Sometimes we count by 2s, or 5s, or 10s. Sometimes we run laps up and down the driveway or try yoga poses. Sometimes we step on the large rocks in the yard as if conquering a realm. Then the bus crests over the hill, slows down while approaching our driveway, and stops. I double check T’s backpack, give him a hug, encourage him to have a great day at school, and remind him that he’ll come back home in the afternoon. Next, and perhaps most importantly, we do meow-meow, our handshake, with one hand, or tiger paw, fitting into another, arcing up and down as we say “meow-meow” in unison. That is how T says bye before his giant steps at school; that is how I say I love you to my tiger, an autistic 7-year-old.