played the examples he would bang along or stomp his feet.  But the music just didn’t sink in. Ally sang all day every day, Timmy never joined in. 

Rhythm, I thought.  He likes rhythm.  I wasn’t that familiar with drumming, but I guess it is an art.  I got a drum and tried to take him through some basic rhythms. He wasn’t too interested in that, either.

It occurred to me that it wasn’t music that could reach his soul, he wasn’t, really, my child. He was Maddy’s child, so I tried art.  We’d go to the boxes of her art and try to reproduce what she had done. He showed some interest, but it still didn’t seem to “reach” him. 

I began to think he was depressed. But he wasn’t.  He and Ally would...

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