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Learning to talk

My parents thought I was autistic, but I just couldn't see the point of having a conversation

By Emran Mian   April 2004

Her office was lined with red carpet. She sat in a chair with a high back. I sat on the floor and drew pictures in the carpet by running my fingers through it. We listened to a tape of two Americans, Tom and Maureen. I had to identify the topics of their conversation. She held up cards. I had to guess what the next word was. Sometimes, I broke off and went back to my pictures. I shook my head when she challenged me. “I’ve run out of words,” I shrugged.

There was a garden at the apartment block where…

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