The instant I closed the front door behind him on the first day of fourth grade, James burst into tears as if I’d popped his cork. Just as I’d feared.

“My teacher said if I forget to write my name on my paper she’ll make me do it 800 times. Call her,” he begged. “Tell her she needs to treat me different.”

“Remember, James has autism,” I whispered to the teacher in the hallway the next day. “He takes everything literally. Plus, fear doesn’t motivate him. It paralyzes him.”

“I’ll talk to him,” she said. Then she lectured me for 15 minutes about the subtleties of scaring kids versus motivating them. I skulked home.

Although new for James, this teacher had been at his school for 17 years. She had a pet bearded dragon lizard and also coached the school’s Academic Games team. James would rather die than play Academic Games. All day his brain wages a tug-of-war between the intoxicating allure of sports and the more subtle charms of academics. Add a sluggish work speed, and James has to exert maximum effort to achieve an average result.

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