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“recovering,” most commonly defined as losing the diagnosis of autism, with early, intensive ABA. On the other side, the critics decry it as inhumane. To them, the process mimics dog training because children are usually given a treat for each successful trial. We ultimately selected ABA because of the concrete results documented in numerous studies showing children mainstreamed in school, even though the process wasn’t always pretty.
    Our first challenge in putting together our home-based program was getting one of New Jersey’s world-renowned ABA providers to come to a rural area to coordinate our program in what they call “outreach services.” Frantically, I called the offices of the three Yale-recommended programs virtually every day and pleaded for them to find us a coordinator who would supervise our therapists. Trying to bring some levity to a grave situation, I quipped that we had a special two-for-one deal for them: Elizabeth and her brother, Charles, were both diagnosed with autism. It would be so efficient to coordinate two children under the same roof. Really going out on a limb, I promised to recruit all of the therapists, since they had none where we lived.
    When Douglass College (part of Rutgers University) called with the glorious news that they had found a coordinator, I was overjoyed and overwhelmed. I needed to find therapists fast. So I took my cue from Willie Sutton, who responded when asked why he robbed banks, “because that’s where the money is.” Istarted by recruiting the best aides and teachers from our public schools, asking them to extend their days and teach our children after school. One excellent therapist led to another, and we were soon in the business of ABA.
    During Elizabeth’s preschool years, our house was a three-ring circus of behavioral, speech, and occupational therapists coming and going from eight in the morning to five in the evening. Elizabeth had three two-hour sessions with three different teachers each day. Every night I checked the binders filled with ABA data to see what progress she was making. Once a week the Douglass coordinator came to train the therapists and implement new lessons.
    A full book could be written about our three years running an ABA program in our home. We had a dedicated team of therapists, led by Tina, our coordinator, who taught Elizabeth to focus and learn. Mostly, I tried to be head cheerleader, acknowledging and celebrating the lessons Elizabeth had mastered in each of our monthly team meetings over pizza. We’ve been eternally blessed by all who worked so hard and lovingly on our ABA team. They gave Elizabeth wings to fly.
    Â Â  Fly   
    I would like to fly
    So very high
    To be a bird soaring
    When the rain is pouring.
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    I love rain and flying. I wonder how it would be to fly like a bird in the rain. I think it would be amazing.
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    When Elizabeth was five, we intended to enroll her in mainstream kindergarten, but our school district thought she should be put into its newly created autism class. Unfortunately, the new autism classroom teacher assumed that Elizabeth had acquired no knowledge from her intensive, in-home ABA program. She forced Elizabeth to revert to the earliest “touch your nose” and “look at me” lessons that she had done as a toddler. Elizabeth erupted in fits of anger and rage. This was a dark time.
    I could barely keep myself under control at one of our weekly meetings at school: “Don’t you think she’s trying to tell you something by hitting herself in the face? Don’t you think she’s telling you that these infantile programs are an insult to her?”
    Sadly, there were days when this teacher went further and took Elizabeth’s letterboard and communication device away as a punishment for her behavior. When I discovered this, I reported it to the principal, explaining that it was the equivalent of putting duct tape