"I think there's something wrong with your son..."

That's the way the call started...from some stranger at the church...who thought she'd be the Good Samaritan and call my wife out of the blue one day.

OK, this lady's heart was in the right place, but this is not the best way to start a phone call if you are a stranger....it totally freaked out my wife.

****

My cell phone rang that afternoon and there's a near hysterical wife who's crying and ranting "that some...strange woman called .....and...... said..... that Timothy's.....not right! She said...that ...he jumps allot.... on the trampoline and and...doesn't make...eye contact. But I told her that he's just fine...the pediatrician said so...he's just a little slow in talking and alotofkidsarelikethat!"

"Right?! I mean he knows his ABC's and can count to 100 right?"

Meetings with the church lady and apologies all around...but nothing much was said at that meeting of any real help.

But really...the church lady was right...there was something off, despite what the pediatrician said (and he's a very good one) and what we wanted to ignore.

Finally, one night while watching Tim launch himself off the sofa again...and again and again ...and again....it dawned on us that there were always enough reasons to think everything was OK.

Those reasons always had a "but" in them.

Yes, he knew his ABC's...in fact he could assemble an ABC puzzle upside down and backwards in a few seconds; BUT, he did not point at something he wanted like most kids that age.

Yes, he could count to 100 and knew his colors...BUT it was hell to get him to look at us and when he did his eyes would immediately slide off and resume gazing into another land.

Yes, we put together a list of about 300 words that he knew...BUT knowing "words" and actually using them are two very different things. He had yet to say all the things a typical 3-yr old would've said in the proper context. No "mommy" (while reaching for mommy), no "daddy" or "kitty" or "milk" or really anything except those words..only spoken when prompted...and some fast babbling that sounded allot like Chinese ...and sometimes French.

When he wasn't babbling in his FrancoChinese and careening from room-to-room, he was jumping. ALWAYS jumping in his crib, jumping on the sofa, jumping on the floor..to the point where the furniture was being destroyed and we had become deaf to the house shaking like it was in an artillery barrage.

We both sat there, blankly watching Tim launch himself off the arm of the sofa, landing 3 feet away with a thump that shook the house. It was late and there was only one lamp on in the living room which cast a harsh singular light. (The shade had been damaged...by Tim.) It threw a larger-than-life Tim-shadow that would flail and fly along the wall like a banshee chasing behind while once again Tim attempted to fly from the sofa.

Someone said, "I'm calling Dr. B in the morning. We will be a little more forceful about our parental observations."

And we've never gone back to that church.