"I love my new school."

The 11-year-old boy who spoke these words - I'll call him Mark - was sitting in my office, looking at me in a new way. He looked confident, relaxed, proud, and excited all at the same time. His mother looked the same. She had fought hard for this moment, and her faith and grit were finally paying off.

Mark has Asperger's syndrome, a form of autism in which children develop language, but struggle with social relationships. They have to be taught things that other children learn effortlessly, like how close to stand when talking to someone, or how to know when the person you're talking to is getting bored. 

When I first met Mark more than three years ago, he was a smart, artistically gifted boy with a very short attention span. He could multiply two digit numbers in his head, but was only barely passing in school. He had a hard time with group activities because he didn't ever quite know what was expected. He wanted to make friends, but didn't have a clue how to do that. He got frustrated and had "meltdowns" nearly every day. Medication helped his attention, but only partly.

For Mark, the classrooms and hallways were full of sights and sounds that were distracting, even painful. He wore hooded sweatshirts because the high-pitched fan of an overhead projector hurt his ears. He'd pull the hood over his head or just hide under the desk. He learned to cause trouble when he got too uncomfortable, so that he would be sent out of the room.

His mom's struggles were almost worse. She was constantly battling Mark's teachers to get them to understand and accommodate his needs. One teacher, for example, insisted on using the overhead projector even though he knew it bothered Mark.  "I can't change what I do for just one kid," he said. Mark's mom was fierce and persistent in her dealings with the schools. She knew Mark wasn't getting what he needed, and she would never accept anything less.

Then, a few months ago, a substitute principal temporarily took charge of Mark's school. Within days he had run up against Mark's mother, but instead of deciding that she was an "impossible parent," he actually listened to her. Once he understood, he vowed to get Mark transferred to the Positive Education Program, a special school for children with learning and behavioral issues. PEP is expensive, and the sending school pays. Principals who never refer kids to PEP save their districts money. The new principal, to his credit, understood that Mark's needs had to come first.

Here's what Mark had to say about his new school: "The teachers are really tough, but they're also nice. If a kid is losing it, they know how to hold him so he doesn't get hurt. Then, once he calms down, he can join in whatever we're doing." And about the academics: "I like the classes because we don't spend weeks on the same subject." In fact, Mark had advanced more than a full grade level in math in just over a week, and he continues to zoom ahead, according to his own abilities. Best of all, the number of meltdowns has gone way, way down.  And the hooded sweatshirts are hanging in the closet.

Mark has taught me so much: 

• A change in schools can transform a child's learning, behavior, and emotional life.
• The right school for a child is not always the mainstream one. 
• The best medicine doesn't always come in a bottle. Sometimes it comes in the form of a determined parent and principal willing to stand up for a child with special needs and gifts.