As my daughter and I stepped out of our respective stalls in the airport bathroom, I saw my son standing in the corner waiting for us, having come in after he had used the men’s room next door. He has a habit of eloping at airports, so I was relieved to see him. “Love,” I told him. “Thank you for coming in and waiting for us.” The three of us moved to the sink to wash our hands. That’s when things got weird. My son has high-functioning autism, what used to be called Asperger’s syndrome, now