The following is an excerpt from an article published in the New York Times as part of the Motherlode section.

The other day a stranger called our house, out of the blue, to discuss my son Jonah’s health. He’d seen my memoir about our family and autism in the library and he wanted to know if I’d heard about a treatment that was getting remarkable results. Something to do with ocean water, he explained.

Incidentally, this sort of unsolicited heads-up isn’t as unusual as you would think. Not for me or any parent of a child on the autism spectrum. We’ve heard it all — from gluten-free diets to hyperbaric chambers. We’ve learned to tune it out, most of it anyway. But some trace of the miracle-cure talk echoes; it can’t be unheard. Ocean water, huh? As it happens, I told my mystery caller, we’re going to Maine next month.

I could have kicked myself.

The following is an excerpt from an article published in the New York Times as part of the Motherlode section.

Last fall, I received a puppy for my birthday. The gift, from my wife, Cynthia, was welcome, even if it came around 50 years too late.

Still, the undiluted joy I’m sure I would have felt as, say, a 6-year-old has been undermined by a nagging grownup question: What were we thinking, getting a dog? Probably, we were thinking – without realizing it at the time – that this has been a difficult year for our family.

Those difficulties began but didn’t end with our son, Jonah, who has autism and just turned 15. Social interaction, always a challenge for him, has become considerably more challenging during his teenage years. We figured he could use a friend. He is not only isolated from his peers these days, but he is also increasingly isolated from Cynthia and me. Jonah’s door is closed an awful lot and his self-imposed exile, not that unusual for any teenager, has still been hard to adjust to. Some days, I find myself staring at that door, wondering what happened to our adorable little boy.