Relax. He is the same little boy you loved yesterday. I smiled trying to hold back the tears. "No, he isn't. Yesterday I dreamed he would be an astronaut. Today I am hoping he will learn to talk." It was like some sort of cosmic joke. I could still recall the day that determined my fate. It was October in Ottawa and the summer breezes had given way to the autumn rainfall of leaves. The snow would begin soon. The crispness   of coming frost was in the air. My casually mentioning Wyatt's behavior to Dr. Martin aroused his worries. He started asking me questions about Wyatt's activities speech pattern and emotions. I still see clearly in my mind the cleanness of the room and all its belongings when the doctor turned to me and said, "He almost sounds autistic   ." I couldn't face that picture in my mind. I had to run to get away from this all too painful place that was reminding me of what was to be my child's life-being strange. I could not remember how many times I told myself, "This is normal. He is a little boy who is not talking yet," when my asking questions met with his blank-eyed response in a restaurant; how many times I would tell myself, "He loves to play on his own for hours at a time and he never gets into trouble," when Wyatt was playing games that no one else could imagine, let alone join in while other boys in the park were playing together or in small groups played around a sand pail  or toy truck. My life was changing direction. So was Wyatt's. I started to hide Wyatt from my friends and neighbor especially from a good friend. It was too painful to let others know about my boy acting strange. It was a Thursday afternoon and I found one half of a great pair of kitchen scissors was missing. They were unbelievably sharp and could be taken apart so they could be washed or the blades   sharpened. I knew Wyatt had taken the missing blade. "Wyatt," I began as patiently as I could, "Do you see this?" I held up the blade. "Do you know what this is?" Wyatt put a bunch of Fruit Loops in his mouth. No response. "Wyatt!" I forced eye contact with him. "Where are the other scissors? See these." I showed him the half pair. He smiled big. Ate Fruit Loops. Turned the TV on and off. Still no response. I didn't know what to do. It was really hard. "Wyatt," I tried once more, "Mommy wants these scissors. Can you go get them for Mommy? It will make Mommy so happy if you bring me the scissors." "Watch Spongebob." Wyatt asked as he slid down from his kitchen stool and ran off, leaving me shaking my head and wondering in exactly which way this situation was going to end badly. Five minutes later, I turned my head to see Wyatt coming downstairs, his favorite doll in one hand, the missing half pair of kitchen scissors in the other. I immediately ran over and took it from him. "Wyatt!" I hugged him. "Thank you for bringing me the scissors! Good job! You did it! These scissors need to stay in the kitchen. These are Mommy's scissors!" Wyatt laughed, looked at me straight in the eye and said, "Mommy so happy!" I came close to tears. A realization dawned on me that he was the best gift I had ever gotten even though he was not as normal as other children. And why did I hide him from others as if he were some dark and terrible secret. No! He was my pride. It was a long, hard battle to get him to this point, expressing his wants and needs without turning to violence in embarrassment. With love and patience I have found the beautiful, happy boy who would teach me more about life. And that is the solution. According to the passage, which of the following indicates that Wyatt is not normal?
He never gets into trouble He responds with blank eyes. He plays with others for hours. He likes watching TV programmes.
Question: Relax. He is the same little boy you loved yesterday. I smiled trying to hold back the tears. "No, he isn't. Yesterday I dreamed he would be an astronaut. Today I am hoping he will learn to talk." It was like some sort of cosmic joke. I could still recall the day that determined my fate. It was October in Ottawa and the summer breezes had given way to the autumn rainfall of leaves. The snow would begin soon. The crispness   of coming frost was in the air. My casually mentioning Wyatt's behavior to Dr. Martin aroused his worries. He started asking me questions about Wyatt's activities speech pattern and emotions. I still see clearly in my mind the cleanness of the room and all its belongings when the doctor turned to me and said, "He almost sounds autistic   ." I couldn't face that picture in my mind. I had to run to get away from this all too painful place that was reminding me of what was to be my child's life-being strange. I could not remember how many times I told myself, "This is normal. He is a little boy who is not talking yet," when my asking questions met with his blank-eyed response in a restaurant; how many times I would tell myself, "He loves to play on his own for hours at a time and he never gets into trouble," when Wyatt was playing games that no one else could imagine, let alone join in while other boys in the park were playing together or in small groups played around a sand pail  or toy truck. My life was changing direction. So was Wyatt's. I started to hide Wyatt from my friends and neighbor especially from a good friend. It was too painful to let others know about my boy acting strange. It was a Thursday afternoon and I found one half of a great pair of kitchen scissors was missing. They were unbelievably sharp and could be taken apart so they could be washed or the blades   sharpened. I knew Wyatt had taken the missing blade. "Wyatt," I began as patiently as I could, "Do you see this?" I held up the blade. "Do you know what this is?" Wyatt put a bunch of Fruit Loops in his mouth. No response. "Wyatt!" I forced eye contact with him. "Where are the other scissors? See these." I showed him the half pair. He smiled big. Ate Fruit Loops. Turned the TV on and off. Still no response. I didn't know what to do. It was really hard. "Wyatt," I tried once more, "Mommy wants these scissors. Can you go get them for Mommy? It will make Mommy so happy if you bring me the scissors." "Watch Spongebob." Wyatt asked as he slid down from his kitchen stool and ran off, leaving me shaking my head and wondering in exactly which way this situation was going to end badly. Five minutes later, I turned my head to see Wyatt coming downstairs, his favorite doll in one hand, the missing half pair of kitchen scissors in the other. I immediately ran over and took it from him. "Wyatt!" I hugged him. "Thank you for bringing me the scissors! Good job! You did it! These scissors need to stay in the kitchen. These are Mommy's scissors!" Wyatt laughed, looked at me straight in the eye and said, "Mommy so happy!" I came close to tears. A realization dawned on me that he was the best gift I had ever gotten even though he was not as normal as other children. And why did I hide him from others as if he were some dark and terrible secret. No! He was my pride. It was a long, hard battle to get him to this point, expressing his wants and needs without turning to violence in embarrassment. With love and patience I have found the beautiful, happy boy who would teach me more about life. And that is the solution. According to the passage, which of the following indicates that Wyatt is not normal?
A. He never gets into trouble
B. He responds with blank eyes.
C. He plays with others for hours.
D. He likes watching TV programmes.
Answer: