WASHINGTON —
Greg Masucci just wants to
hear his little boy say his own
name. ¶ That’s what he tells
developmental specialists
as he sits in an office at John
Tyler Elementary School for
what feels like the hundredth
meeting to hash out his son’s
educational goals. This time,
the specialists insist the school
can’t be expected to teach 6-yearold Maximus to say his name and
his family’s name upon request.
“He should be able to say his
name, our name … and maybe
‘Washington, D.C.,’” Greg says.
“You know, just, God forbid, if he
gets kidnapped.”
Max has severe autism. He can’t
talk, sit still or express his desires. Sometimes he smears his
own feces on bathroom walls and
dives head first onto his bed. No
one understands why.
Greg’s nightmare scenario of losing Max isn’t hypothetical. Schools
have lost him in the past. Once,
he escaped through a broken gate
and into a field adjacent to a feeder
street to the highway. When his
father found him, Max was just
feet away from oncoming traffic,
walking toward a soccer goal at
the field’s end. Although his story
ended happily, it doesn’t always for
others. Avonte Oquendo, a 14-yearold New York City boy with autism, is still missing more than four
weeks after walking out the front
doors of his public school.