"We can't go see regular movies," said David Bukovinsky, whose 6-year-old son, Connor, has autism (younger sister Megan does not). Connor "can be disruptive. It's yelling. He likes verbal stimulation. Megan sees a lot of movies, but then, she's typical. But we can never see them all together."

So here the Bukovinskys sit — Connor and Megan between parents David and Laurie — awaiting an experience that many "neurotypicals" (a name those with autism have given those not affected) take for granted.

Movies, be they fresh or rehashed, magical or mundane, are the stuff of childhood, of family outings — arguably of American identity. Our love affair with them begins early. They bind us to one another differently than television. They invite us into invented realms while teaching us to share space with strangers. They are among the rituals of American inclusion.

David Bukovinsky, and his children Connor, 6, and Megan, 4, watch the show. (Craig F. Walker | The Denver Post)

So what must it be like to feel unwelcome because the behaviors associated with autism can be misunderstood and disruptive? Because, as Zaborek says, your kid flaps her arms, or growls, or kicks her feet out while watching a flick? "I stopped taking her to movies because I was too nervous."

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