Molly used to worry about her son. He was a behavior problem from the age of three. They were referred to child psychologists when he was in pre-school, and she has written reports predicting that he’d never make it through 12th grade.

He had a pretty bad temper. He lashed out readily, sometimes with whatever was in his hand. He got kicked out of after-school “carpentry” in first grade because he bopped a classmate over the head with a 2 x 4. He put his fist through his bedroom wall when he was eight. The cycle of behavior was hideously repetitive: enrollment; a note from the teacher; a conference that concluded with a behavior “contract;” suspension; expulsion.

The quality that disturbed Molly most was his lack of remorse. No matter how she went at him – in his face yelling, the go-to-your-room silent treatment, reasoning, making him compose sentences – no matter how they conversed about the issue, he’d maintain that the only problem was that he had gotten caught.

Really. It was beyond exasperating. He appeared to love Molly in spite of her rants; he’d look her in the eyes and, when he wasn’t saying whatever came to his mind to get her placated and out of his face, he’d consider and give what seemed to be his sincere response. She’d drill him with questions about his behavior. He never would tell her “what he was thinking of” before he offended. He always responded when she asked him if he understood the misdemeanor, that the problem was he got found out and punished.

She was stymied. There was no remorse she could use. She started to wonder if the shrinks were right about his future. Molly recalled the rages in which her ex-husband would sometimes revel, and she blamed him.

Molly and Alex saw psychologists. Some were selected by school and three she found herself. As a group she reported that they were smarmy and ineffectual.

Alex made it through high school and college and into functioning employed adulthood. Molly says it was the girls of late middle school who provided the cure. Alex was consistently attracted to smart high-achievers, and he joined them in homework and study, and he then reaped the benefits of engagement in his work and satisfaction with the results, and that kept him at it.

But he’s still got a missing part (his term). He didn’t cry when his grandfather died, or when they put down the old dog, and he’d been close to both of them. He seems to always wonder if he loves his girlfriend enough. Molly fears that he lacks empathy and tenderness.

Lately I’m wondering too. And I’m beginning to think Alex didn’t inherit his impulsiveness, anger, and distance from his pathetic nonentity of a dad. I’m starting to turn the scope on Molly.

She was a challenging kid and a disruptive student. Recollecting, I think both parents were awed and her mother was frightened. Not that Molly was violent (except when angry, and then she threw items at walls and not at people). But she was moody and her mother didn’t understand her passions. She constantly accused Molly of lacking common sense. “You may be smart,” Molly’s mom would say, “but you’re stupid when it comes to getting along with people and understanding everyday things.”

I wonder now: was “lack of common sense” the greatest generation’s phrase for “has trouble understanding normal social interactions”? Is Molly’s dislike of surprises really about her needing time to arrange her reaction into an acceptable expression? Just where is my best friend, on the spectrum?