Two summers ago, our newly grown family was traveling to visit relatives and friends in the States. Siikwan, our oldest, was five, and our little one, Loowan, was just a year old. Thanks to another war breaking out back home, we were stuck in America for much longer than anticipated, even missing the start of the school year—Siikwan’s first year of elementary school, first grade. Sleeping in one room with my family for weeks on end, I began to notice things about Loowan that had previously slipped past me in the rush of daily life. All summer long, people kept making comments: "What's wrong with her? She doesn't look at me." All. Summer. Long. It was only then that I realized she was giving eye contact exclusively to me. That realization, coupled with a sudden speech regression, was enough to make two things crystal clear: 1. There is nothing fucking wrong with her. (Who says that to a parent?) 2. There might be something here I'm not yet seeing. When we fi...