A Boy with a Scooter

“A Boy with a Scooter” is a powerful story of struggle, resilience, and triumph, following 13-year-old Daniel as he navigates life with OCD and Asperger’s. This compelling narrative offers a unique opportunity for classroom discussions, essay topics, and student engagement, fostering empathy and understanding of different mindsets and challenges. It’s an excellent resource for teaching students how to better understand and support classmates who may think and act differently. A must-have tool for teachers, counselors, and school psychologists alike. Here is an excerpt from the novel:

And suddenly, it all clicks.

All those hushed conversations behind their bedroom door... Mom’s tears when Dad talked to me, trying to hammer some sense into my head, and the way I always reacted to his words.

Now I get it. My dad has always treated me like I’m a regular kid. He pushed me to play sports, got frustrated when I fumbled with a football, and yelled at me when I couldn’t hit the tennis ball, no matter how hard I tried. The only time he's ever proud of me is when I swim. That’s cause I swim like a fish.

“Yeah, Mom, sure. I can keep a secret,” I say, smiling to reassure her. I shift in my chair and ask, “Tell me, Mom, what else have you noticed about me?”

She places her hand over mine, her voice soft. “Well, Daniel, as a baby, I didn’t see you cry much—not for a long time. You were probably close to two years old when I heard you cry for the first time. I found it odd, but I thought you were just one happy baby. Then, when you were around four, I noticed you didn’t make much eye contact. You’d talk to me but look past me or to the side.

“When you were five and six, you refused to get undressed—no matter what. You’d sleep in your T-shirt every night, and if I tried to get you to change, you’d get upset. Even at the beach, you had to stay dressed. I didn’t understand it then. You also lined up your toys in perfect rows and couldn’t stand it if anything was out of place. You'd go into a meltdown if we moved something even a little. Everything had to be in order, and you’d get lost in those routines.”

She paused for a moment, then continued, “Then came school, and in fifth grade, you started having those panic attacks. No one could figure out what you were afraid of, and you couldn’t explain it. That was rough for us at home, especially with your dad. He refused to take you to the doctor, so we switched schools instead. Do you remember your old school?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do… but why wouldn’t he take me to a doctor?”

“Because he said you weren’t crazy or psycho, and he hated the idea of labeling you. He didn’t want to admit that his son was different. He wanted you to be like every other boy.” She sighed, her voice trembling. “What he didn’t understand is that all kids are different.”

I see the tears in her eyes, and suddenly, things start making sense. Maybe that’s why Dad was gone for almost five months back then... I always thought it was because of his work.