There was a time, not too long ago, when Billy never asked a question. NEVER. Then, around the age of 3, he started SOMETIMES wondering about stuff that was missing: “Where’s Mama?” or “Where’s Daddy?” or more likely “Where’s Thomas and Percy and Gordon and Rheneas and…?” And another year passed.

I watched other parents roll their eyes as their toddlers badgered them with questions in the grocery store: What is that? What is that? What is THAT? But WHAT. IS. THAT?!

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear that kind of passionate curiosity from Billy.

Asking questions can be tough for autistic kids. To ask someone else a question, you have to first be aware they are in the room. Second, you have to understand that they have information you need. And then you need to be able to verbalize your need for information in the appropriate form. It took us several years to make our way through steps one and two.

And I can still remember the moment, after years of speech and ABA therapy, when Billy asked the first question that showed real curiosity. He was in the bathroom, looking at a “magazine” (Toys R Us catalog). Then he pointed at a picture and asked, “What are they doing?”

The floodgates were opened. (Considering the location, maybe that’s an unfortunate choice of phrase on my part. Still, you know what I mean …)

Questions remain difficult. Sometimes they’re quirky and frequently oddly phrased. Sometimes he wants information that I simply do not have. Neither does any other human being on the planet Earth. His curiosity, now unbridled, runs the gamut of its own spectrum. But I take each question, however difficult, as seriously as possible and give him the best answer of which I’m capable:

BILLY: Can I watch Berenstain Bears for one hundred minutes?

ME: No, but you can watch TV for 10 minutes.

BILLY: Is brown angry?

ME: That’s a good question. (Is it? I don’t know, but I’m buying myself time.) Brown is not a very happy color, it must be said.

BILLY: Who was the man on “The Small World?” (We rode “The Small World” 5 times at Disney last summer, and unlike my son, I do not have perfect recall of everyone who rode with us.)

ME: Sorry. I don’t remember. If we see him again, we’ll ask.

BILLY: Can I have one hundred M&Ms?

ME: You can have ONE M&M when you sit down nicely for homework.

BILLY: Why is homework? WHY?

ME: Homework helps us learn new things.

BILLY: Can I have a gun?

ME: No.

Question: Are these pets? Answer: NO.

BILLY: Can I have a lemur?

ME: No.

BILLY: Can I have one hundred lemurs?

ME: Definitely not.

BILLY: What are YOU feeling?

ME: A lot of things. Love, a little anxiety, humor – that means something is funny – and happiness.

BILLY: Can we go see Colin Powell?

ME: Sure, buddy. After homework. (Thank you, YouTube.)

Billy LOVES the library. This gives me all kinds of joy, because I always loved the library as a kid too. However, like with a lot of parenting experiences since I've realized I was the parent of a child on the autism spectrum, I've had to learn to let go of my expectations. I've learned to just let my unique kid enjoy the trip in his own way, because let's just say he has his own ideas about what makes a successful library trip. To their credit, his teachers and aides really let him choose his own books. And he has strong opinions and makes clear choices.

Now that he's a kindergartener, once every six days (don't get me started about trying to follow this six-day system in a five-day school week), Billy gets to go to the school library. If I remember to send back the book from his previous trip, he gets to pick out a new book.

Opening his backpack on library day is one of the highlights of my week.

Let me recount what I've found there over the last few months:

Curious George Makes Pancakes (we already have this book at home)

Madeline (we already have this book at home)

Dr. Seuss ABC (Yep, we've got that one too.)

At this point we have a semi-long discussion about choosing a book we don't have already at home. At which point I open his backpack and pull out ...

Followed, six days later, by this ...

That was a long week.

But after we managed to return this slightly disturbing bit of graphic war history to the library, we went through a golden period of Berenstain Bears, small chickens, cats who love christmas and an alligator who sends valentines to a squirrel. Several weeks in a row he brought home anything with a knight or a castle on it. And then he seemed to be fixated on any books that had a picture of someone or something angry on the cover.

Then library day rolled around this week.

Yesterday, I opened his backpack and pulled out ...

This is a very long book.

There are not a lot of pictures.

But his aide told me he was insistent that this was the book he wanted.

And he does seem to have an odd fascination with Gen. Colin Powell's rise "Straight to the Top." I am stunned each night as he listens with rapt attention as we work our way through the beginning of the first Gulf War, Powell being named Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and his decision not to run in the 1996 presidential election. Needless to say, I've already started hearing a few scripts about "the decision to go to war" coming out of Mr. McScriptyPants at some odd moments.

Who knows what next week's library visit will hold? A manual on repairing the lawn mower? Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover? The biography of Steve Jobs?

Like every other day with my amazing boy, I know that library day will bring another surprise, a belly laugh or two, and quite a few learning experiences for both of us.

If anyone had told me this moment would be possible even a year ago, I wouldn't have believed it. But autism or no autism, we have no idea what is possible ... Life is a spectrum, yes, but it is so much more. It has dimensions we can't see and takes us on a journey that has as many ups and downs as it has steps forward. Ask a parent to describe a moment so joyful that she can't swallow the tears fast enough, and we realize how inadequate words are to describe life. Luckily, we have more than words. We have iPhones. And we have music ...

Neighborhood. It’s so old-school, right? Most of us probably live in places where there is very little within walking distance. We probably have to drive to school, to the grocery store, to the office.

I’m lucky enough to live in an American community in which I can walk my son to school. When I first realized that was possible, I thought it was cool, kind of a novelty. I thought it would potentially be an outlet for all the energy Billy needs to exert before he can settle down in the morning. I thought it would be a great way to talk about things we see, things we plan to do, where we are going.

All these things turned out to be true. But I had no idea what I would come to value most about our walks to and from elementary school.

High Fives
Every morning, Billy meets Mr. David on his walk to school and gives him a big high-five. Or a small high five. Or he just buries his head in Mr. David’s chest. It depends on his mood. Mr. David is his neighbor, and his hands are up, or his arms are open, depending upon whether Billy needs a high-five or a hug.

Santos
Billy used to be dog-phobic. SERIOUSLY dog-phobic. Still is with some dogs. But every Wednesday, we look forward to an encounter with the world’s sweetest and most docile Golden Retriever, Santos, and his owner. Because of this kind, patient neighbor, Billy is no longer completely dog-phobic. Though Chihuahuas still kinda freak him out.

Holidays
It helps to be known around the neighborhood if your child is going to Trick or Treat with the opening line of “Look at that Grandma! She’s a witch!” Particularly, if the woman in question is, at most, around the age of 40. It helps to be known if your autistic child decides that one particular house deserves to be Trick-or-Treated five times in a row. If you can act genuinely surprised and delighted the fourth time that autistic Peter Pan tricks and treats your house, you will absolutely be getting a holiday basket from the ‘Feet.

Outdoor Safety
Because we walk to school, I’ve had the chance to practice road safety with Billy. He’s learned to “wait at the edge” of the road and look both ways for cars. And when he ignores all my warnings and barrels toward the intersection, Mr. Cedric, the school crossing guard, has a few words with him. Mr. Cedric is one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I know, and he has a personal and encouraging word for Billy every morning. And in the afternoon, if Billy has had a good day, Mr. Cedric is one of the first people to celebrate that fact.

Nothing warms my heart more than the moments when the people in my neighborhood help me keep my son from running into traffic. Mr. Cedric is a god in our household. He’s like Santa. All I have to say is, “Billy, this is Mr. Cedric’s sidewalk, and he is watching you,” and immediately, he slows down.

Friends
Billy has a few friends he sees only on his walk to school. They’re all neurotypical. Some walk. Some ride bikes or scooters. Many of them call him by name. One truly beautiful big-eyed girl actually makes a point to knock on our door a couple of afternoons a week. She plays Wii with Billy, helps me feed the fish, chats about her school day, and generally renews my faith in the human race.

I’ll be honest with you: There are moments when I think it would be easier to NOT be out “in the neighborhood.” It would be a lot easier to pick Billy up and drop him off by car, because every moment and encounter is not positive.

But my neighborhood has shown me how understanding a community can be. And not just understanding, but also rewarding to both me and my son. If I do my job correctly, then he’ll be as independent as is possible for him; he’ll have to be comfortable interacting with the world around him.

I can only hope that he’s lucky enough to live in a neighborhood like ours.

It's Wordless Friday, because I was too inept to get this up on Wordless Wednesday ...

Billy is LOVING the soccer now!