She identifies with the boy's mother, who does her best to monitor his every move and manage his behavior. She also empathizes with the next-door sign makers, who say the boy enters their home, eats their food and once threw rocks at their daughter.

"I know their story. It's my story," said Paulsen, whose son Philip, now 42, was tagged the neighborhood terror growing up in the Canyon Rim area. "I remember one of our dear neighbors telling us they were going to sign a petition to have us moved out. It's easy to be angry. But you have to step back and understand these people are afraid."

Paulsen's sentiment may seem uncharacteristically understanding. But it's shared by a number of parents of children with developmental disabilities. It's also the general consensus of a coalition of advocates for the disabled and civil rights leaders planning an intervention in Nephi.

Before taking any action, staff from the Utah Developmental Disabilities Council, Disability Law Center (DLC), ARC of Utah and Human Rights Education Center of Utah will first seek input from Nephi's political, educational and church leaders.

"We want to talk to local folks so that we're responding to their needs rather than coming in from the outside and telling them what we think is important," said Eric Mitchell, community relations director for the DLC.

As Mitchell describes it, the Nephi situation calls for a more nuanced and lasting response than simple sensitivity training. The ultimate goal is to promote greater public awareness and reach out to people with disabilities who feel isolated, he said.

A DLC survey two years ago showed that statewide, people with disabilities struggle to find jobs; transportation; and access public buildings, such as libraries and post offices. They complain of cuts to mental health and Medicaid services and of underfunded schools.

But in rural Utah, these barriers are compounded by poverty, isolation and social stigmas.

"This is certainly an opportunity to highlight an unfortunate situation and explore what can be done to help this boy and others like him," said ARC of Utah advocate Joyce Dolcourt.

The boy, a 13-year-old with autism and other cognitive impairments, functions at the level of a 4- or 5-year-old and doesn't understand how uncomfortable his behavior makes neighbors, his mother, Carrie Heaton, said in earlier interviews.

Heaton is unapologetic about her son's tendency to wander, arguing he should enjoy the same freedoms as anyone else. But Nephi police say Heaton's neighbors have lost patience with the boy's lack of boundaries and his parents' lack of supervision.

It's a standoff that calls for intervention by a behavioral specialist "with training for the boy, the family and the community," said Dolcourt.

L.P. Kaplan, founder and executive director of the U.S. Autism and Asperger Association, has offered Heaton a full scholarship to an upcoming conference in Park City highlighting the latest advances in biomedical and behavioral therapies.

There is no cure for autism, but some treatments are proving effective, particularly if started as early as possible, said Kaplan.

Another advocate at ARC of Utah has offered the services of a volunteer mediator.

Heaton could not be reached for comment Friday. But other parents touched by autism caution there is no three-step manual for raising an autistic child, and sometimes even the most tried-and-true behavioral-management tools fail.

There is disagreement over the exact nature of autism, but it's generally thought to be a neurological disorder that affects emotions and communication. Some people with autism have high intelligence, and others qualify as developmentally disabled.

The disorder's one common feature is its unpredictability, said Sarah McQuilkin, who has followed the Nephi dispute and is the mother of a 6-year-old with autism in Shelton, Wash.

"I can go into a store with my son and all of a sudden have him writhing on the floor as if in pain. It's the fluorescent lighting and echoes that put him in a meltdown," said McQuilkin.

McQuilkin said her son also likes to roam. To protect him, she fenced the yard with padlocks on the gates, but that didn't always work.

"It's impossible to keep an eye on your child every single minute. Sometimes you have to let them explore," she said. "It's frustrating as a parent, because conventional discipline doesn't always work. I finally had a card made up that said, 'If you're perplexed by my child's behavior, it's not because he lacks discipline.' ''

Carola Zitzmann, the Utah mother of a nonverbal autistic adult, said: "People rotate easier to a Down syndrome child because they're cute and friendly. But when you have a child who does not look like he's disabled and makes strange noises and movements, you get looks."

Also, because the disorder sometimes isn't diagnosed until toddlerhood, parents are vulnerable to denial, she said.

"It's hard for some families to recognize their son or daughter is even disabled."

Paulsen said "good old-fashioned guilt" also complicates the search for the best parenting solutions. Treatment and diagnostic tools are more advanced today than when her son Philip was misdiagnosed as mentally retarded.

That and the challenge of raising Philip and his two siblings alone drove her to make the painful decision of placing him in an institution at the age of 5. The training he received there paid off, said Paulsen, who says Philip now lives more independently at a group home in Bountiful.

But "it's never an easy decision to institutionalize," she said. "I just knew I couldn't do it alone. I was divorced, and my mother had just died."

Prior to that, Philip underwent residential inpatient therapy, but counselors told Paulsen they weren't making headway. "That about broke my heart," she said.

Paulsen has come to an uneasy peace with the chaos and never-ending changes in Philip.

He can be aggressive. "It's something we don't often talk about. But he grew violent in adolescence. The first time he took a swing at me, I literally saw stars," said Paulsen.

She speaks fondly of putting padlocks on the cupboards and dead bolts on the doors to guard against Philip joy-riding as a child on the golf carts at a local public course. "Philip is creative," she said.

To this day, when Paulsen takes Philip to someone's house, he'll rummage the cupboards for cookies, she said. "If he finds them, he dumps them into a bowl. I think it somehow makes him feel secure."

To parents, Paulsen says: "Never give up. You can't stop trying, experimenting and hoping."

And to people newly exposed to disabilities such as autism, she says, "If you're curious, just ask."

kstewart@sltrib.com