Raising Austin

Jeanne and Chuck Harple are working like mad to keep their 9-year-old son's behavior problems from wrecking his future. No one knows why, but it appears a growing number of families are in the same boat.

Jeanne Harple is, as always, prepared for anything as she climbs the polished wood stairs of her three-bedroom brick colonial in North Arlington. It is 7:50 a.m. on a freezing Monday in January, and it is time to wake up Austin for school. When she or her husband, Chuck, hits Austin's door, they never quite know what to expect from their 9-year-old son. Some mornings, he will just grunt in protest or flail around in the bedsheets. Other days, he might loudly refuse and call his parents jerks, or worse.

Occasionally, Austin will start the day by blurting out curse words.

"Austin, you gotta get up," Jeanne says, tugging gently on his blanket.

"No, I don't," Austin declares, staying buried beneath the covers on his bottom bunk bed.

"Yeah, you do," she says.

"Naaaaaaah!" he whines. He yanks off a black blindfold that he wears because his eyes are particularly sensitive to bright morning light, just as his ears are severely offended by loud noises. Austin pokes his head out from the blanket; he has pale skin, clear hazel eyes, an angular face and close-cropped brown hair. His smooth cheeks bear a few faint scars because of a habit of picking at his face. Physically, he is a fairly average fourth-grader, 53 inches tall and 65 pounds.

"What do you want for breakfast?" his mother asks. She is an energetic woman, wearing workout pants, a loose jacket, and a tired expression because she hasn't gotten much sleep lately; her long brown hair is held off her face by a clip because she hasn't had a chance to fix it right.

"I don't know," Austin answers impatiently.

Jeanne knows she has an hour to wake up her three kids, get them cleaned up, dressed and fed, lunches packed, backpacks filled, and then drive two of them to school in her Chrysler minivan, with her 19-month-old daughter in tow.

"You want waffles or eggs?" She always offers a choice, which she has learned is crucial for Austin. "I don't have hollandaise sauce," she adds, "but I could make some."

No response. Austin looks dazed, unresponsive.