Rivka Iacullo netiimvzaviyos.livejournal.com My son CJ is now five years old, coming up on six. He’s a bright boy who loves reading (though he doesn’t like demonstrating his skill on command), tow trucks, playing outside, and the color orange. He spends hours on the weekends enacting strange and elaborate imaginative scenarios with his younger sister Claire, who functions as his trusty sidekick. (One of their favorite games is “Princess and Customer,” something I could not make up myself if I tried.) CJ was diagnosed with autistic disorder at the age of three. He is sufficiently high-functioning that it took me a while to wrap my mind around the possibility of autism. This is, I believe, at least partially because of the incompleteness of the short autism awareness blurbs that show up in parenting magazines, pamphlets in the doctor’s office, and the like. They recommend action when children don’t talk, never…