I'm proud to be the father of autistic children.
Kids are in the pool this morning (no we don't have a Pool, we have a twelve foot diameter by forty two inch above ground "kiddie pool", one of those five hundred dollar jobbies with a filter, which I float in on warm evenings and the kids romp through all day).
Daughter: Daddy, DADDY! Here take this! Daddy take this, PLEASE! I'M IN THE POOL!
Humble, loving father, "at his daughter's heel", is confused.
Dad: What's wrong? What have you got?
Daughter: Take it, please.
Trusting, over-protective father, coming to the rescue of his daughter during her most recent crisis, grasps her outstretched, dripping-with-pool-water hand and gently, "PRETENDS" to take something of great importance and value, handles it most carefully, while enquiring, melodramatically, as to its essential make-up, pleased that she is playing pretend games outside her mind.
Dad: WOW! What is it?
Daughter: I didn't wanna get the pool dirty, dad.
Dad: Oh. Oh, really? What is it?
Daughter: It's a booger. You gotta get it to a Kleenex.
Fuck!