The Boy Who Loved Too Much : A True Story of Pathological Friendliness

First Title Value for Searching:

Personal Author:

Latson, Jennifer

Edition:

First edition.

Physical Description:

x, 290 pages ; 24 cm

Summary:

A journalist describes the story of a twelve-year-old boy suffering from Williams syndrome, a genetic, developmental disorder that makes him impervious to social inhibitions and incapable of distrust, putting him at an extreme disadvantage for life in modern times.

Contents:

Unlocked -- Diagnosis -- Putting Williams on the map -- Milestones -- A genetic street lamp -- Eli turns twelve -- School -- Missing genes, more personality -- People like Eli -- Eli goes to camp -- Learning curve -- The note home -- Treating the friendliness disorder -- Eli turns thirteen -- What the future holds -- Progress report -- Where the hugging never stops -- Tough love -- Confrontation -- Born to be kind -- Science class -- Graduation -- High school.

Subject Term:

Williams syndrome -- Patients -- Case studies.

Friendship in children -- Case studies.

Social interaction in children -- Case studies.

Audience/Lexile:

1070 L

Publication Info:

New York : Simon & Schuster, 2017.

Subject:

Williams syndrome -- Patients -- Case studies.

Friendship in children -- Case studies.

Social interaction in children -- Case studies.

Beuren syndrome

Contiguous gene syndrome

Elfin facies syndrome

Fanconi-Schlesinger syndrome

Idiopathic hypercalcemia-supravalvular aortic stenosis syndrome

Supravalvar aortic stenosis syndrome

Williams-Barratt syndrome

Williams-Beuren syndrome

Williams contiguous gene syndrome

Childhood friendship

SAILS ISBN:

9781476774046

Available:

Library	Shelf Number	Shelf Location	Status
Searching... Foxboro - Boyden Library	618.928 LATSON	NONFICTION	Searching... Unknown
Searching... Hanson Public Library	B D'ANGELO	BIOGRAPHY	Searching... Unknown
Searching... Richards Memorial Library	618.928 L355	NONFICTION	Searching... Unknown
Searching... SE Regional Vo Tech HS	618.92 LAT	DISPLAY	Searching... Unknown
Searching... Seekonk High School	618.928 L355	NONFICTION	Searching... Unknown
Searching... Seekonk Public Library	618.928 LATSON	NONFICTION	Searching... Unknown
Searching... Taunton Public Library	618.9289092 L364B	2ND FLOOR STACKS	Searching... Unknown

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Summary

The poignant story of a boy's coming-of-age complicated by Williams syndrome, a genetic disorder that makes people biologically incapable of distrust.

What would it be like to see everyone as a friend? Twelve-year-old Eli D'Angelo has a genetic disorder that obliterates social inhibitions, making him irrepressibly friendly, indiscriminately trusting, and unconditionally loving toward everyone he meets. It also makes him enormously vulnerable. Eli lacks the innate skepticism that will help his peers navigate adolescence more safely--and vastly more successfully.

Journalist Jennifer Latson follows Eli over three critical years of his life as his mother, Gayle, must decide whether to shield Eli entirely from the world and its dangers or give him the freedom to find his own way and become his own person.

By intertwining Eli and Gayle's story with the science and history of Williams syndrome, the book explores the genetic basis of behavior and the quirks of human nature. More than a case study of a rare disorder, however, The Boy Who Loved Too Much is a universal tale about the joys and struggles of raising a child, of growing up, and of being different.

Reviews (5)

Publisher's Weekly Review

This terrific debut from Latson, a journalist, takes up the story of Eli and his mom, Gayle, when Eli is 12 years old. Any parent will recognize the factors in play: hormones, parental expectations for school, concerns about bullying, and so on. The multiplier effect for Gayle is her son's genetic disorder, known as Williams syndrome. Since Williams amps up the oxytocin in Eli's system, making him love everyone indiscriminately, Gayle has to teach her son skills that run counter to his nature-but that may keep him safe. Eli's slowed development and stiff joints mean that complete independence from his mother at any future point is unlikely. Gayle, a single mom, confides, "I want him to live a long, happy life. I just want to be there for him.... If I could live just five minutes longer than he does, I'd be happy." The author skillfully interweaves the science-what we do and don't know about genetic disorders such as Williams-with a powerful story line. Eli and especially Gayle are beautifully drawn, and their struggles with an unknown future are both unique to their situation and universal to all parents. As the book's perspective deliberately pans out to include teachers, counselors, family, friends, and, finally, Eli's entire eighth-grade class, Latson delivers some unforgettable lessons about inclusion and parenthood. Agent: Brettne Bloom, Kneerim, Williams & Bloom. (June) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

Booklist Review

Journalist Latson portrays Eli, a boy with Williams syndrome, a genetic disorder with a striking feature: it causes excessive friendliness. This instant, hyperendearment can make it seem that Williams people love complete strangers as much as immediate family. Among the disorder's other problems are developmental delays, which can be hidden by exceptionally expressive speaking skills. Family members know, of course, that serious life obstacles lurk beneath the charming veneer. Just when it seems that Eli is stuck in an untenable stage in puberty, making frequent inappropriate physical contact with others, he suddenly improves. These leaps are the hard-earned fruits of Eli's mom, whose Herculean diligence and self-sacrifice are surely some of the best examples of family commitment in recent literature. With Williams caused by the loss of only 26 of the 20,000 human genes, it allows researchers unprecedented opportunities for studying the links between genetics and behavior. This new knowledge will shed light on a variety of conditions, including autism. Latson blends life concerns and hard medical facts in this widely appealing chronicle of a fascinating disorder.--Carr, Dane Copyright 2010 Booklist

New York Review of Books Review

IMAGINE HAVING A CHILD who is extremely gregarious, generous and filled with boundless joy. It might seem like a parent's dream, but it's not easy raising a child with the rare genetic accident that causes such exuberant affection, partly because that affection is so undiscriminating. Called Williams syndrome, the condition eliminates the skepticism and social caution that seem hard-wired into most other human beings. Instead, people with Williams typically have an insatiable urge to befriend, trust and touch everyone, even strangers, a social overdrive that leaves them vulnerable to disdain and exploitation. One in 10,000 people has Williams syndrome, which commonly includes other characteristics too: moderate intellectual disability, cardiac and GI problems, poor muscle coordination, A.D.H.D., visual-spatial deficits, and a gift for music, language and storytelling. But Williams's most unusual and scientifically intriguing feature is that lack of social inhibition, which is what the journalist Jennifer Latson explores in "The Boy Who Loved Too Much." Though she addresses the science of the syndrome, most of the book is devoted to the experiences of a boy with Williams - and the challenges his mother, a single parent, faces as she wrangles with the sometimes heart-wrenching consequences of his unbridled friendliness. "This tendency, the hallmark of Williams syndrome, is both its silver lining and its most disabling feature," Latson writes. "In their unstoppable urge to connect with others, those with the syndrome alienate the people they hope to befriend, and often attract people who are more eager to take advantage of their indiscriminate affection than to reciprocate it." Williams is caused by the deletion of only 26 of the estimated 20,000 genes that form a person's DNA. But the impact of that minuscule deletion is enormous. Although most children with Williams have an I.Q. and eager sociability similar to that of those with Down syndrome, children with Williams typically have less tolerance for frustration and significantly less impulse control. Latson describes the many ways Eli (a pseudonym to protect his privacy) trampled social boundaries. Even after he eventually understood he was supposed to keep his hands to himself, he still bounded up to strangers, threw his arms around them and sometimes hollered, "I love you!" Some recipients of his affection responded kindly, many were flummoxed, some were appalled or cruel. Throughout childhood and middle school, Eli seemed unaware that his efforts to connect were backfiring, badly. But his mother, Gayle, was well aware of the rejections. (Eli's parents had separated when he was 8, and Gayle was raising Eli on her own.) She saw how uneasy people were about Eli's gushing friendliness, and knew that at school, children slid away from him in the cafeteria, or pretended they didn't hear his attempts at conversation, no matter how loudly he spoke. Even when Eli was wounded by insults, he not only forgave or forgot them, but remained convinced the bullies were his friends. "He either didn't realize or didn't mind that he was unlike his classmates," Latson writes. "He walked off the school bus singing every afternoon, whether or not he'd been teased. Gayle wasn't sure whether Eli's imperviousness to social slights meant that he was more intellectually disabled than some of his Williams peers or simply more happy-golucky. Either way, she wondered if he'd grow to become more self-aware - and whether she'd want him to." Gayle was caught between wanting to protect her son and wanting to help him become more independent. Gayle leaned toward hypervigilance, painfully aware of Eli's vulnerabilities and defenselessness. Except for when he was at school, Gayle never let him out of her sight, inadvertently isolating herself from social interactions too. Despite the rarity of the syndrome, Williams has disproportionately contributed to the unveiling of genes' role in social behavior - which Latson lays out in an accessible way. Unlike autism, Williams has a clear genetic footprint that produces a predictable set of traits and behaviors. That predictability offered a tidy opening for geneticists. They found that not only does the absence of those 26 genes lead to affection overdrive, but people with an extra copy of those genes have the opposite challenge: They tend to suffer from social phobia, so much so that some are diagnosed as autistic. And yet, despite the wide distinction in sociability between the two syndromes, Williams and autism share some symptoms: unusual sensitivity to sound and texture, hand flapping, repetitive motion, rocking, perseveration and an obsession with mechanical objects and things that spin. (Eli, for example, loves ceiling fans, vacuum cleaners and electric floor scrubbers, so much so that he compulsively searches the internet for videos of whirring floor scrubbers.) With recent advances in gene therapy, some scientists hope to be able one day to replace the missing genes in people with Williams syndrome. To Latson's credit, she notes that others consider it unethical to try to "fix" people with Williams or other neurological conditions, like autism. Advocates of neurodiversity say that instead of trying to make everyone fit social norms - being cautious, skeptical, self-involved - society ought to broaden its notion of acceptable behavior. Norms, after all, are not fixed; what's "socially appropriate" differs by culture. Though Latson reports that the chance of having Williams doesn't vary across countries or ethnic groups, different societies treat Williams quite differently. A cross-cultural study found that Japanese parents of children with Williams were far more uneasy with their children's exuberant affection than were American parents of children with the same condition. In Greece, on the other hand, parents whose children had Williams were unfazed by their children's intense social efforts. While Latson's storytelling is sometimes more dutiful than necessary, her book provides a thorough overview of Williams syndrome, and its thought-provoking paradox. No doubt life for people with Williams (and those who love them) has its difficulties. But given the state of the world today - the hate attacks, the divisiveness, the vitriol - it's hard not to wish that we all had more kindheartedness and openness, even if our embrace of other humans is only metaphorical. RUTH PADAWER, a contributing writer at The New York Times Magazine, teaches at Columbia University's Graduate School of Journalism.

Kirkus Review

A personal look at Williams syndrome, "a genetic fluke that strip[s] one in every 10,000 people of the inherent wariness, skepticism, and inhibition that [are] hardwired into the rest of us."In her debut, former Houston Chronicle reporter Latson combines the moving story of Gayle and her son Eli, a child with Williams, with scientific data on this rare genetic disorder. Characterized by an elfish appearance, sleeplessness, heart murmurs, sensitivity to sound, and cognitive and developmental difficulties, the biggest issue with Williams syndrome is that people who have it are overly friendly, too trusting, and unconditionally loving toward everyone, including strangers. For Gayle, this meant she was not able to let Eli out of her sight, for she never knew when he would head toward someone with open arms, wanting a hug or wanting to give a hug. Approximately 30,000 Americans have Williams syndrome, making it less common than Down syndrome or autism, but its effects on the parents and children are no less profound and life-changing. Latson shares Gayle's story from the moments of Eli's diagnosis and into his teen years. As a single mother, she struggles with raising Eli, trying to navigate the health care system, work, and finding places where Eli can be himself without causing disruptions. Attending a special camp helped Eli make new friends, but Gayle was unable to relax and enjoy herself. When Eli entered puberty, Gayle faced further obstacles, as Eli openly experienced sexual desire but was not fully aware of what that meant physically. Latson tells the story with great sympathy and eloquence, giving voice to the frustration, anguish, and despair a parent feels when their child struggles with a rare disorder. A well-researched, perceptive exploration of a rare genetic disorder seen through the eyes of a mother and son. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Library Journal Review

Journalist Latson's work about Williams Syndrome is partly a portrait about a mother and her love for her special-needs son, and partly an exploration of the condition itself. Williams Syndrome is explained as a genetic disorder that causes intellectual disability as well as physical abnormalities. What is most striking, though, is that people with Williams are intensely drawn to social contact. They rush to hug total strangers indiscriminately and light up when they see even a face they don't recognize. Relying on observations, interviews, and thorough research that makes this rare disease easier to understand, Latson tells the story of Eli and his mother, Gayle. From the boy's diagnosis as a toddler, through his difficult middle school years, and into his first year of high school, when negative behaviors level off and he starts to make friends, she describes Gayle's constant struggle to control inappropriate behaviors as well as advocate for him in school and the community. Her fierce love for her son is undeniable. VERDICT Recommended for parents and caregivers of anyone with special needs.-Terry Lamperski, Carnegie Lib. of Pittsburgh, PA © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Excerpts

The Boy Who Loved Too Much One Unlocked Gayle didn't know where to turn. She had been driving east for hours on an unfamiliar highway (I-80) in an unfamiliar state (Pennsylvania), searching with increasing desperation for a place to stop for the night. She had been checking each exit since 9 p.m. But every reputable hotel from Clarion to Punxsutawney had been booked full. Now it was past 11. She tapped her crimson fingernails anxiously on the steering wheel. Twelve-year-old Eli was scribbling with crayons on a notepad in the backseat. His crayons were the fat kind that kindergartners used; Gayle bought them because they were easier for him to grip than the slender version. He clutched a red crayon tightly in his fist and drew furious circles, throwing his full weight into the task. Then he lifted the crayon from the page and stabbed it rapid-fire--a manic pointillist creating a fusillade of dots. A few tore through the paper. He lifted his artwork and admired it in the dome light, which Gayle had left on for him. He chirped with glee, smiling to himself. Then he selected a blue crayon, bent his head over the notepad, and began again. As he worked, he sang a selection of hits from Disney's Lion King. Every few minutes he asked enthusiastically, "When are we gonna get to the hotel?" Road trips were a source of great excitement for Eli, since they meant a new cast of characters and new social opportunities he wouldn't find at home. Home was a town house in a small Connecticut apartment complex where Eli and his mother lived by themselves. Eli's father hadn't been around for years. From his kitchen window Eli often watched other boys his age playing in the parking lot. From the French doors overlooking his back patio, he caught glimpses of them shooting basketballs through the hoop behind the subdivision's communal grass patch. But he'd never joined them. Even if he'd been invited, Gayle wouldn't have let him go. Road trips, however, meant stopping at diners and hotels--places where you could meet new people and see unfamiliar vacuum cleaners and overhead fans, to Eli's great delight. And this had been a nice, long summer road trip: two days north to Michigan and now two days back. Eli squirmed giddily in anticipation of all the adventure still in store. "We'll be there soon, Eli," Gayle said. Her voice was worried, slightly exasperated. She asked him to sing a little more quietly. IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT, AND Eli was dozing, when Gayle finally found a motel with a vacancy: a low white-brick building near an oil refinery in Clearfield, Pennsylvania. But as soon as she pulled into the parking lot, she was tempted to turn around and keep driving. The warm air drifting through her open window carried the acrid smell of diesel fuel on a cloud of cigarette smoke. The parking lot was filled with work trucks around which men stood in groups dimly lit by streetlights. Tractor-trailers lined the edges of the parking lot, bordering the motel like a menacing metal hedgerow. Gayle considered getting back on the highway. If she drove all night, they could be home by morning. But she knew she was too tired. They were stuck here at the Clearfield Budget Inn. Eli woke up when the car rolled to a stop. He surveyed the landscape enthusiastically, oblivious to the seediness of the place. "I've never been here in a long time!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Gayle stepped out of the car and into the July heat, and opened the back door to let him out. She could feel the eyes of the men on her, the only woman in their midst, and on Eli, who was now rocking back and forth on his heels with excitement. Both Gayle and Eli were rumpled from hours in the car. Gayle, a youthful forty-one-year-old, wore a purple camisole and capri-length cargo pants that revealed some of her tattoos. On her back, feathery wings spread outward from her spine. Her left shin was covered with a series of colorful images: on the back, a dragonfly; on the left, flaming dice; on the right, a serpent coiled around a sword; and on the front, a red heart with a banner that said "Eli." Her long black hair, usually wavy, had gone limp in the muggy heat. She had pulled it up into a clip, revealing the discs that had stretched dime-size holes in her earlobes. Eli wore a black T-shirt and the baggy denim shorts that Gayle had bought at Kohl's just before the road trip, hoping these wouldn't split at the seams like his last pair. She described her son as "husky," but it was his pear shape that made him hard to shop for. Boys' clothes weren't designed with this shape in mind. She ran a protective hand through Eli's dark curls. His features were those of a much younger child: chubby cheeks, an upturned nose, and a smile so wide it made his eyes crinkle. They were crinkling now. His face was bright with joy, and he tugged at Gayle's arm, pulling her toward the light, the trucks, the men. She jerked him forcefully in the other direction. In the sweltering front office, the motel's owner, an Indian man with thinning white hair, slid open a thick glass window--Bulletproof, Gayle thought. He looked as tired as Gayle felt. She rummaged through her purse to find her wallet and handed him her credit card. Eli, meanwhile, bounced up from behind her, smiling broadly. "I'm Eli! What's your name?" he said, extending a hand to the motel owner. The counter was higher than Eli's head, but he stood on his tiptoes and strained to reach. The man gave him a quizzical look. Without answering, he reached through the window and shook Eli's hand. Turning to Gayle, the motel owner nodded toward the parking lot. "Don't worry about those guys," he said. "They're here for the summer, working construction. They just like to relax out there after work." Only slightly reassured, Gayle took the room key. "He likes me," Eli declared as they left the office, pointing his thumb toward his own chest. "I'm sure he does," Gayle agreed blankly. She was already scanning the row of doors for the number on her key. She slung Eli's backpack over her shoulder, rolling her suitcase across the uneven pavement with one hand and holding Eli's hand with the other. Eli peered at the faces of the men in the parking lot, hopeful that someone would return his gaze, but they looked away when he caught their eyes. One man lit a cigarette; another stubbed one out on the pavement. One man mumbled something too quietly for Gayle to hear. The others laughed. Apart from the rest of the group, one man sat alone on the sidewalk, his elbows propped on bent knees, his head drooping heavily in his hands. His eyes were closed. Gayle noticed his sinewy arms, his muddy work boots. Maybe he was just tired from a long day, but Gayle's instincts told her he was more likely drunk or high. She looked for a way around him, but he was on the walkway just in front of her room. There was no other way to go. She whispered to Eli through clenched teeth, "Do. Not. Say. Anything. To. Him." "Why?" Eli replied in an ordinary voice. They were ten feet from the man, and closing in. Gayle raised a finger to her lips. "Because. He's sleeping." Eli's eyes never left the stranger. When they were less than an arm's length from the man, Eli shouted, "Are you sleeping?" The man raised his head and gave him a dark, bleary look but didn't speak. Eli grinned at him. The man dropped his head again. Gayle pulled Eli past, fumbled to unlock the door to their room, and dragged Eli inside. She shut the door hard behind her. The motel room was outdated--forest-green carpeting, purple-and-green-swirled curtains and a pink bedspread--but it looked clean, at least. Gayle checked the mattress ticking for bedbug shells but found none. There was still a faint smell of smoke inside, which grew stronger when she turned on the air conditioner. She could hear the men's voices outside, even over the rattling of the AC, and wondered if she'd be able to fall asleep here. Eli, meanwhile, pulled off his Velcro shoes and his shorts, dove under the polyester bedspread, and was snoring before the lights went out. The next morning Gayle spent close to an hour looking for the room key, which she had somehow lost. She dumped out the contents of her suitcase, her purse, and Eli's backpack. Eli chattered happily while she searched, asking questions she only half answered. "What are we going to have for breakfast, Mom?" "I don't know. We'll see." "We can go to a diner?" "Maybe. I don't know what's around here." "I think there's a diner!" "Oh, you do?" She couldn't help but smile at his optimism. He stood at her shoulder, looking up at her expectantly. She set down the backpack she had been rifling through and gave him a hug before continuing her search. When she kneeled to search under the bed, Eli sprawled atop the shiny pink bedspread and watched her. When she moved into the bathroom, he jumped up and followed her. Gayle crouched to look behind the toilet. "You can draw a picture of a truck?" Eli asked from the doorway, tilting his head sideways to see her face. "Not now, Eli. But maybe later." She opened the cupboard below the sink and looked beneath the extra rolls of toilet paper. She couldn't really imagine how the key could have gotten under a roll of toilet paper, but she was out of ideas. "But you can draw it for me?" "Yes, OK. But later." She squeezed past him, back into the bedroom. She pulled the dresser away from the wall in case the key had slipped behind it. It hadn't. Eli flopped back down on the bed. He cupped his chin in his hand and sighed, growing bored. Gayle rechecked every place she had already looked. The key was nowhere. Finally she instructed Eli to wait in the room while she flagged down the motel owner. He was also apparently the motel's one-man housekeeping crew: she saw him a few doors down with a cart full of cleaning supplies. She sheepishly confessed to losing the key. "I have it," he said. "You left it in the door last night." Gayle's mind raced with retroactive terror. As if they weren't vulnerable enough already, she'd made it even easier for danger to creep in. She pictured a lineup of the men who must have passed their door while they slept, and the key turn that would have brought them inside. Not only had the door been unlocked, it had been advertised as such. The dangling key chain might as well have been a neon welcome sign. Gayle shuddered. This was, after all, the central struggle of her life: trying to shelter her son from the world. Eli himself was perpetually unlocked, open, and vulnerable. He carried a welcome sign wherever he went. Gayle was the only barrier between him and everything that lurked outside the door. She dashed back to the motel room, which she had left unlocked this time by necessity. Eli's face was pressed to the window. It lit up when he saw her and, behind her, the motel owner. He waved at both of them ecstatically, as if he were being rescued from a desert island and it had been years since he'd seen another human being. Excerpted from The Boy Who Loved Too Much: A True Story of Pathological Friendliness by Jennifer Latson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.