The Note Meant for Cutie Pie “P.S. Tell Cutie Pie we love them no matter what.” I think my 5th grade teacher and her assistant had me pegged for being autistic. Back then, I was in special education. There was another kid named Caleb in the class too, but I was the one everyone called Cutie Pie—because my initials were C.P. I still remember how it felt to be seen that way. Sweet. Safe. Special. One day, they sent a note home with me in my report card folder. I opened it before giving it to my mom. It read: “Dear parent or guardian of Caleb, We believe that they may have autism and should be seen by a psychologist to be assessed. If you need help, feel free to contact the school counselor. P.S. Tell Cutie Pie we love them no matter what.” When I gave it to my mom, she brushed it off. Said the school must’ve mixed things up—that the note was probably meant for the other Caleb. But I knew better. That last line? That was for me. No on...