Floor time required parental involvement. Though it emphasized relationship, fun, and joy, the method drew its power from parents' ability to entice an impaired child to perform at increasingly higher levels of attention, cognition, and motor functioning — far higher than that child would normally be disposed to. It was tailored to a child's particular deficits and strengths and was designed to grow in scope as the child climbed the developmental ladder.

The article that Dawn brought me reported results that struck me as astoundingly positive. Greenspan had been able to help over 50 percent of his 200 patients to become fully functioning children —warm, engaged, interactive, verbal, and creative. Another 30 percent made substantial progress. He helped children reach these unexpected levels of functioning by using a comprehensive program including occupational therapy, speech therapy, and floor time. The therapy required that a child be reacting to his parents or therapist in what Greenspan called "circles of communication." A circle would be opened if someone tried to engage the child and closed if someone received a response. Someone smiles and the baby smiles back: one circle. Hand a toy to the baby and the baby hands it back: two circles.

The important question for Greenspan, however, was how high could a child "with challenges" climb?

I called Greenspan, who, though notoriously difficult to see, was eager to work with Walker because Walker was so young — by that time, nine months old. Two months later, I received a call from Greenspan's assistant, Sarah.

"I have a cancellation," said Sarah.

"But I thought there was a year waiting list."

"It's open for you. You can have three or four sessions," she said.

"Three or four?"

"Because you live so far away, it will take three hours for Dr. Greenspan to evaluate your son."

I hung up the phone, discouraged. There was no way we could afford three or four sessions with a famous psychiatrist. Besides, the trip to his office in Bethesda, Maryland, including airfare and car rental, might cost up to $1,500. Who were we kidding?

Still, I somehow felt compelled to make it work. Perhaps we could borrow the money or let it become credit card debt.

Cliff was more worried than I, and I was about to cancel the appointment when I called the insurance company. To my surprise, they said we were covered. Their contribution would work out to 50 percent of Greenspan's fees.

We drove up to Greenspan's large property on a gravel drive encircling a grove of oaks, walked around the back of the house near the tennis courts, and waited in an enclosed porch. He invited us into a large, comfortable room with threadbare rugs, old chairs and couches, stacked with papers and books, and littered with toys.

Greenspan leaned over Walker's records and studied them closely, holding his glasses as if they were a magnifying glass. He asked questions and took copious notes, leaning over the paper. He looked up occasionally and studied the baby on the floor. I watched him closely, ever anxious to see reflected in someone's eyes a window into Walker. I could not read anything about Walker in Greenspan's eyes, but I liked what I saw in this doctor. He was a tall, middle-aged man, balding slightly, wearing a blue sport shirt and chinos. There was a softness in his facial skin and a gentleness in the eyes, as if he'd just woken up. I had the impression of a person somehow softened by years instead of the familiar reverse. Greenspan stood up and disappeared through a hardwood door that at first seemed hidden, as if it were part of the paneled wall. I looked at Cliff, then studied Walker. We'd come a long way since May, had managed to lure Walker, at times, from those enticing sirens that beckoned him inward.

With little appetite, Walker was frail, but he was learning to move. First he had crept, then crawled. Elizabeth and I had found empty boxes at a dumpster at nearby Smith College and made obstacle courses for him. He crept through one box into the next. When he had become slightly stronger, we put pillows in the boxes, surfaces of varying textures, stuffed animals, balls, and blankets to negotiate. Cliff's sister, Susan, had given Walker some plastic stacking cups. Elizabeth, Cliff, and I made towers and enticed Walker to move toward them. He had learned the joy of demolition — crept toward the towers and destroyed them. The crashing sound was not a bother. Was he becoming less sensitive?

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