Author's Note: You may want to read my previous article, ID 11353, before reading this one. It will probably make more sense in parts if you do.
My brother, Tristan, has Autism. He goes to a school that is specifically for disabled children, and they have a program called "Special Olympics". For a few weeks, every Monday, students who signed up for this group ride the bus to the bowling alley, where they bowl until 5:30. My mom went there early, to watch, and to make sure Tristan didn't have a fit for the volunteer coaches. On the second week, I went to watch, too. . .
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