This book was created and published on StoryJumper™

©2010 StoryJumper, Inc.   All rights reserved.

Publish your own children's book: 

www.storyjumper.com

The Austism Invader entered our home quietly on March 1, 1990 in the dark 

mental recesses of our newest precious addition.   The neonatal nurse brought 

him to me and declared, "He's a little touch-me-not!"   Not my son, I thought 

and spent the next months, if not years, attempting to prove her wrong.  

Certainly, as a veteran mom, I noticed a few oddities.   Traits I later found out 

were characteristics of the Invader but at the time I attributed to evidence of 

intelligence.   First, was his difficulty nursing.   Nothing to worry about, of 

course, many infants struggle with this chore and hence provide lactation 

specialists with employment.   There was also adaptive nursing equipment 

available to make the problems less painful (for me, which I liked) and he 

didn't appear to be suffering.

Who knew the 

importance of eyes?   I 

waited for our eyes to 

connect in a tender 

baby-to-mommy 

momment as he 

nursed. Alas, I waited 

in vain as he studied a 

button, the ceiling, a 

doorknob, the written 

word; he focused with 

intent on anything, but 

me, the one who had 

carried him, birthed 

him, and cared for him 

day in and day out.

However, it wasn't just me.   He didn't look at 

anyone.   No one.   Not his brother or sister.  

Not his grandparents.   Not the people at the 

grocery store.   Not the pediatrician.   Not other 

babies.   No one.   Other infants were engaged.  

People cooed, exchanged smiles and chucked 

them under the chin.   Not my son.   He was 

intense.   Intensely interested in other things.  

Objects.   Dots. Patterns.   He was bright, 

right?   Maybe he could already read?  

Suspicions.   The Invader's name had come up in 

conversation but, no.   It couldn't be.   Not our baby.  

Then a phone call from his Sunday School teacher.  

She had taught Special Education in school.   Had I 

considered that he might have a problem?   Maybe a 

vision problem?   Maybe a learning disability?  

Maybe....autism.

Not my baby.  

Then began a round of doctor's visits.   The 

pediatrician didn't believe anything was wrong 

until...yes, it was the eyes that caught his attention.

Or, didn't.   He hung 

his head and said, "I 

dropped the ball on 

this one".   That 

didn't feel good.

The eye 

doctor sent a 

letter stating 

that it must 

be autism. In 

a letter!!  

Gee, thanks!

No brain 

tumors!!   Yea!!

His hearing seemed 

OK.   Later he would 

be hyper-sensitive 

though.

A friend was a developmenal specialist.  

She had a son one day older than ours 

and saw no evidence of a problem.   We 

asked her to test our son and banish the 

Invader once and for all.   She agreed.  

She wanted to help.   She wanted to don 

her magic cape and utility belt of crayons, 

blocks, and dolls to vanquish that demon 

but... it was those eyes again.   That and 

the doll.   He wouldn't touch the doll.   Who 

knew that was important, too?   A ball, a 

block, a crayon - yes.   A doll - no.   Who 

knew?

Overwhelming 

Sadness

Overwhelming 

Sadness

The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble; the 

name of the God of Jacob defend thee; 

Send thee help from the sanctuary, and 

strengthen thee out of Zion;

Remember all the offerings, and accept the 

burnt sacrifice; 

Grant thee according to thine own heart, and 

fulfill all thy counsel.  

We will rejoice in thy salvation, and in the 

name of our God we will set up our banners: 

the Lord fulfill all thy petitions.  

Now know I that the Lord saveth his anointed; 

he will hear him from his holy heaven with the 

saving strength of his right hand.  

Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: 

but we will remember the name of the Lord 

our God.  

They are brought down and fallen: but we are 

risen, and stand upright.   Save, Lord: let the 

king hear us when we call.  

Psalms 20

The hovering phantom Invader I refused to name 

allowed my son admittance into a special school for 

little ones with disabilities.   But did he really have one?  

It was still just eyes and dolls, right?   He wasn't even 3 

years old.   How could they know?   But the tantrums 

had begun.   Real ones.   Not those pansy, whimpy ones 

you sometimes see.   These were screaming, biting, 

hair pulling events that lasted a VERY long time.   There 

was no comforting.   No bribery. No reasoning.   People 

stared and gave advice but they had no idea.   Setting 

it off was a mystery as well.   Turning left instead of 

right.   Blow dryers in restrooms.   Seeing a balloon.  

Life became a guessing game.

You've previewed 10 of 16 pages.

To read more: