Like No Other Boy

by Larry Center

  Chimps or the Acorn School?

  I was starting to feel confused.

  We learned that Ms. Rosengarden and her husband, a physician, founded Acorn four years ago. They had two children with autism and had been frustrated by the school systems and traditional therapists. They were determined to find a better way.

  “So, you see, here are the baseline responses of our students,” Ms. Rosengarden said, handing us a professionally prepared brochure with all kinds of colorful graphs. “When they arrive, we track fluency, the number of appropriate versus inappropriate behaviors, and, of course, academic performance. We try to be as exact as possible. Most children come here with very poor scores in all areas. Then, after a time, as you see here on this page,” she handed us one colorful sheet, “behaviors and linguistic fluency start to improve. Eighty-five percent of children experience a ten percent improvement in just six months.” She spoke proudly.

  Tommy improved more than ten percent with the chimps in one visit, for sure, I thought, though I was unable to validate that. But Cheryl was nodding her head with every word Mrs. Rosengarden uttered. This was obviously the Gospel According to Acorn in her eyes.

  I’d always admired Cheryl’s diligence as a mother. I recalled how she once lobbied the school board for more support materials for Tommy and other autistic children, a tiger for Tommy’s needs, calling board members and teachers day and night, showing up at meetings and demanding that the needs of autistic children be met. She never gave up.

  And now, the Acorn School. This place wasn’t on her wish list—it was on her demand list. How could I even think I had the power to stop her? Who wouldn’t like a place like this? Surely, it was the perfect setting to offer hope for a child with autism and give comfort to a parent’s desperation.

  And yet . . . the chimps.

  “As I recall,” Ms. Rosengarden said, “you said Tommy’s speech is now at the three-to-four-year-old level, yes?” She opened up a file on her computer containing Tommy’s test scores, which Cheryl had arranged to be sent from Hillwood and studied it. The light from the screen flickered on her pale face.

  “Yes.” Cheryl sat up in her chair. “And we can’t seem to do any better. He’s had all kinds of therapists. We just can’t seem to move him forward. It’s been more than difficult. Isn’t that right, Chris?”

  I nodded. “It hasn’t been easy.” My stomach tensed as I sensed the desperation in Cheryl’s voice. We both knew the sorrows of seeing our child struggle with even the most basic academic concepts, dealing with resistance and disinterest, fighting back the tears when tests results came back reporting no advancement. Pouring knowledge into Tommy’s mind wasn’t just a task, it was a Herculean achievement. We used to spend hours with him, just trying to get him to make eye contact, to learn the difference between hello and goodbye, to learn the alphabet.

  “Let’s see now.” Ms. Rosengarden spoke as she stared at the monitor. I doubted if she even heard me. It looked like she was more comfortable hiding behind the screen than talking with the humans sitting before her. I wondered if she didn’t have a touch of autism herself.

  Ms. Rosengaarden continued. “We have the Briggs Language, the PPVT, the ADI, the Childhood Autism Rating Scale, the Stanford-Binet, the VDOS. Okay. And there’s his IEP. Good.” She perused the data. “He’s been tested quite a lot, I see.”

  But what about the chimps, the excitement that had burned in Tommy’s eyes? How do you test for that? How do you quantify something that’s basically intangible, and yet you know with all your heart and soul exists?

  “Tested, diagnosed to death, actually.” Cheryl pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s been so frustrating, Ms. Rosengaarden. You just can’t imagine.”

  “Trust me,” Ms. Rosengaarden said. “I can more than imagine.”

  “Yes, I guess you can.” Cheryl’s eyes moistened. “Of course, you can.” Cheryl dabbed at her eyes. “Excuse me.” She sobbed, then gave us a bold smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on becoming so emotional.”

  “It’s all right. I understand.” She gave Cheryl a sympathetic smile.

  Cheryl gained control after a long, uncomfortable moment, while I dry-swallowed and felt like emotional walls were closing in on me. San Diego was so far away from Houston, worlds away. If Tommy moved to Houston, I would be a far more distant moon to him; probably even out of his emotional solar system completely. I recalled how my parents had left me at camp near Hendersonville, North Carolina, when I was a little boy, way up in the mountains. I’d swallowed back my tears that first night, the world looking bleak and dark. It felt miserable. I was so alone and afraid. I couldn’t imagine watching Tommy leave me and go off to another city. It would be crazy hard for him. Already, I felt my hands go slick as my eyes misted over just thinking about that possibility. What would it do to him being so far away from me?

  “At Acorn, we find that speech advances along the same lines that correspond to emotional adjustment,” Ms. Rosengarden said. “When a child feels safe and relaxed, when they’re completely engaged in an activity and excited by that activity, then and only then does a child with autism begin to expand and grow his vocabulary and even his syntax. It does take time, no doubt about that, and lots of encouragement.”

  But that’s how it was when Tommy engaged the chimps. They supercharged his interest level and emotional involvement, and made him feel safe and comfortable. It was as if he was learning human sociability through chimp sociability. They were the best teachers he would ever find.

  “We try to engage the child with activities that keep their focus. We often use exercise and storytelling combined, along with a lot of one-on-one therapy. Anything to keep the child interested,” Ms. Rosengaarden continued.

  “That’s the problem with Hillwood,” Cheryl said. “I feel that sometimes he gets lost in the shuffle, you know? There are so many kids that it’s hard to give him one-on-one attention.”

  “That’s not a problem at Acorn.” Ms. Rosengarden’s eyes shone. “We keep the children busy every day. It’s non-stop. Of course, we give them down time and sensory break times too, but not for long. Soon enough, we’re right back at it. We’re here to challenge our students and to move them forward every step of the way.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “But what about the independent research data? You’re a new school, after all. What are the studies showing?” I wondered what Rachel would think of Acorn. Would she see it as a good opportunity for Tommy? Had she ever heard of static exercise?

  Ms. Rosengarden brought out more brochures.

  “These show our research in terms of our school versus other schools. You can see the difference right here,” she pointed to a red bar versus a blue bar, “in terms of reading, behavior and emotional intent.”

  I perused the graphs. How did I know this was even accurate?

  “So, what’s the cost?” I asked. I looked over at Cheryl who gave me a knowing nod.

  Ms. Rosengarden went over the prices, which were listed in black-and-white on a separate sheet. Tuition, sourcebooks, and static exercise fees, which seemed way too high to me. “It boils down to forty-two thousand per year.”

  I stared at the figures and gulped.

  “Daddy’ll pay it.” Cheryl’s eyes glimmered. She was practically salivating. “I’ve already talked to him. He said it’s not a problem. I know Tommy will love it here. This is exactly what he needs.” She was gushing.

  Cheryl had raised the specter of her father’s wealth over me before. It made me feel small and left in the shadows, unable to measure up, though I’d never really admitted it to her. I sucked in my breath through clenched teeth.

  “To be honest,” Ms. Rosengaarden went on, “I hate to tell you, but we only have two more openings left for this year, and so I’m going to need your decision rather quickly. We have four other children who’re considering Acorn for this semester, and the only way we can do this fairly is first come, first served. I hope you understand.
”

  “Chris?” Cheryl smiled warmly at me, but the darkness in her eyes belied the emotional undercurrent we were both feeling.

  All I could think about was Tommy with Obo and Mikey, his friends, and the liveliness in his eyes, his coming out of his shell and opening up to the world. If I said, “yes,” I’d be extinguishing the world that Tommy seemed to thrive in, walling off what he loved best, closing him down.

  “Chris?” Cheryl said again. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

  I took a deep courage-summoning breath and my eyes, for some reason, fell on Chagall’s horned goat-animal hanging on the wall, its huge, brown eyes looking not at me, but into me, through me. My head suddenly felt as if two hands were squeezing it as Cheryl leaned forward, waiting, her jaw set. She was daring me to say no. Just daring me.

  “Trust me,” Ms. Rosengarden said. “I know how hard it is raising a child with autism. Bob and I hardly slept the first five years with our two boys. We know exactly what you’re going through. That’s why we established Acorn. So that other parents wouldn’t have to experience all the pain we endured.”

  “Of course, we live in San Diego now.” I scratched a wrist. “So, we’d have to move here.”

  “Yes. Cheryl was telling me. That would be a transition, for sure, but you wouldn’t be the first family to move here for Acorn. Believe it or not, the children seem to adjust fairly quickly.”

  The AC fan shut off while I felt like a furnace, boiling within.

  “I’m completely impressed,” Cheryl said. “Chris? Shall we sign the papers? I’m all for it. I really want you to be a part of this decision. It’s all for Tommy’s sake. Surely, you understand.” She reached over and touched my hand. “You wouldn’t want to stop him from reaching his full potential, would you? I know you love him as much as I do. It’s in your hands.”

  In my hands.

  Tommy . . . Obo . . . Precious words, verbal diamonds, falling from his mouth . . .

  I rubbed my forehead and ground my teeth. I saw in my mind’s eye the way Tommy had rushed to his new friends, so free, alive, spontaneous—

  “Can we think about it?” I asked.

  “Any other day, that would be fine.” Ms. Rosengarden drummed her pen on the table and glanced at the clock on the wall. “But like I said, right now I do have four other children whose parents want them admitted, and I actually promised to let them know by today. If you don’t want the slot for Tommy, I’ll have to turn to one of the others.”

  “I see.” Yes, I saw it all clearly now.

  I slowly shook my head and rose from my seat. There was only one choice I could make. I gave one last glance at the crazy Chagall.

  “I can’t.” The words dropped from my mouth like boulders, and I knew I was crushing Cheryl with each syllable. “I’m sorry. I just can’t agree that this is the best place for my son.” I turned to Cheryl. “I know you really want this, Cher. And I’m sure this is a fabulous school. I mean, anyone can see that. But Tommy’s different. He’s not like the other children.” I paused, afraid to bring up the issue that was almost always on my mind. Finally, I took the leap. I spoke directly to Ms. Rosengaarden. “See, it’s these chimpanzees, Ms. Rosengaarden,” I said. “You see . . . ” I cleared my throat. “He seems to have an affinity with them that goes beyond anything that could be accomplished here and I just, well, I just can’t see how I can give up on that. I even have a team of primatologists working with him in a study.”

  “Did you say chimpanzees?” Ms. Rosengarden blinked.

  Cheryl’s voice turned thick as she thrust out her chest. “Oh, Chris has this fantasy about some monkeys at this zoo, facility, whatever.” She gave me her death stare. “It’s crazy.”

  “Well,” said Ms. Rosengarden. “I don’t know anything about—”

  “It’s just that I’m seeing real progress with them,” I said, trying to plead my case. “When he’s with them, he just seems so—”

  “Chris.” Cheryl rubbed her forehead as if she’d just been attacked by a migraine. “Don’t. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t be impossible.”

  The room suddenly swirled around me. “Ms. Rosengarden, I want to thank you for showing me around. It was quite an education.” I shook her hand, then headed for the door. “You have a wonderful facility here. You truly do. I’m afraid that I just don’t think it’s the best place for my son. Cheryl, you can take the rental car back to the airport. I’ll call a taxi, or an Uber, or something. Don’t worry about me.” I gave her a curt smile.

  “Chris. Please,” Cheryl pleaded, her eyes insisting. “Think about what you’re doing.”

  “I am thinking about what I’m doing.”

  Cheryl’s voice was angry. “Those chimps, it’s just not practical. There’s no research behind it. Nothing to base anything on at all. It’s totally off the wall.” Her voice rose louder, echoing in the room. Her face grew red as her eyes misted over. “All they’ll do is turn him into a boy chimp. Is that what you want? I thought you said it was all about Tommy.”

  I spoke quietly, looking her straight in the eye. “It is.”

  “Ms. Rosengarden.” Cheryl fished through her purse, her hands trembling now. “I want to put down the money to hold his spot. I’ll write you a check right now for the deposit. The deposit’s twenty-percent down, right?” Cheryl turned away from me.

  “Yes, that’s correct. But maybe you should think this over, if the two of you—”

  I exited the office, not waiting to hear the rest of what Ms. Rosengarden had to say, nearly colliding with a maintenance man. The heavy jingle of his keys followed me down the hall.

  “Chris, wait!” Cheryl’s voice was loud and demanding.

  I spun around. Cheryl was standing in the hallway outside the office. Her voice echoed against the tile floor and the walls, which were adorned with colorful pictures the children had created, zany, bizarre pictures, and yet the artwork also revealed a kind of hidden simplicity as well, depictions of life upside down, inside out, emotions surfacing through colors and lines.

  “What?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Why do you always close the door on me? I don’t understand you at all. Can’t we at least talk? Can’t we at least have lunch and talk about this some more?”

  “Fine, Cheryl. If you want.” I had no appetite, though I was starving for normalcy in my life, freedom from strife. I felt a bit dizzy.

  She stepped toward me. “I do want. And I want to make you understand a few things, too. Chris, please don’t act this way. Please. I’m begging you. I just want Tommy to . . .” she choked up, “to have the best chances possible. Don’t you see that?” She dabbed at her eyes. “Don’t you see?”

  “I want what’s best for him too, Cher.” I spoke angrily and balled up my hands into fists. I wasn’t going to be forced and rushed into a decision—no way.

  * * *

  Mid-afternoon. Heat-stroke territory. We found a sandwich shop called Julio’s in a retail strip in a suburb of Houston. Two employees were behind the counter, wearing light-green shirts, one taking orders, the other making the food. We sat down in a booth across from a group of lanky men wearing T-shirts who looked like they’d just gotten off a construction site. The place seemed drained of excitement and was just barely holding on by its monetary fingers.

  All I could think about was the fact that I still had a bit of power over Cheryl: Since Houston was out of state, I possessed the legal ability to stop her from taking Tommy to Acorn. And yet, I knew, if she won an adjudication through her attorney, by proving that Acorn was in Tommy’s best educational interests, and that my insistence on placing Tommy with the chimps might be dangerous, that power might be pulled out from under me. I felt a tightness in my chest.

  I ordered a Reuben sandwich, Cheryl, a turkey sub. We paid separately after Cheryl said she’d pay for mine, but I refused to let her.

  “Okay, Cher,” I said, getting down to business after we’d gotten our food. “I know you’re i
n love with this Acorn place. And I must say, on the surface, it looks great. But how do we even know that what she’s claiming is actually true? And that thing about ‘static exercise’, I don’t know, it seems weird to me. If it’s so great, how dare she patent it and keep it to herself like that? You know what I mean? It sounds greedy. Have you Googled the concept?”

  The pallor in Cheryl’s face was even more stark than I’d realized, the accompanying worry lines along her brow underscoring the energy-drained look in her eyes. “I have actually, and there’s some excellent research behind it. Look, Chris. Let’s talk rationally, okay? All I’m saying is that Acorn has scientific research behind its protocols and Weller doesn’t. Acorn specializes in treating children with autism. Weller doesn’t. Acorn is designed to give children with autism specialized care. Weller’s not designed that way at all. Do you see what I’m talking about? It’s really that simple.”

  Cheryl took a bite of her sandwich.

  “But it’s not all about research, Cher,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I don’t care if this place gets an A plus rating from God’s Yelp review. I know Acorn might help other children with autism, I’m sure it probably does, Tommy’s different. He’s in love with his friends and—”

  “Wait a minute.” She put a hand up to stop me. “Did you say his friends?”

  “Yes,” I knitted my brows together as I swallowed some of my sandwich, “his friends at the Weller Institute.”

  “God, Chris. Do you have brain damage? Are you serious?”

  “Look,” I said, taking a long breath. I hardly tasted my food. “All I know is that I’ve seen Acorn now and I’ve seen Weller. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that Tommy continues going to Weller. It’s like I told you. He was talking with real sentences and everything and the scientists there, they—”

  “Right. Talking.” Cheryl looked away. “Talking to chimpanzees. Do you hear what you’re saying? Do you hear how crazy you sound?”