Katherine Roeders exhaled a sigh of relief as she laid the dinosaur-themed cloth over the folding table near the bleachers in the Marquette Gym. The theme of her son's last three birthday parties had been Dora the Explorer, and to be honest, she was getting sick of that little cartoon character.

Change comes gradually for Keegan Roeders, who celebrated his 11th birthday on this mid-October afternoon. It has to. He struggles to handle it otherwise.

Keegan watched his mother decorate for a moment, then wandered onto the basketball court. The small guest list kept the room's noise level low. The nine other voices in the room all belonged to people Keegan knew and trusted. Too many more voices than that would have made a crowd, and Keegan struggles to handle those too.

Markus Roeders helped his wife lay out the cake, plates, napkins and utensils on the table before strolling out onto the court as well. As head coach of the Marquette women's soccer team, he had used this court countless times to hold indoor practices, but none of those instances had been as important as this one.

Already on the court were associate head coach Frank Pelaez, assistant coach Dano Holcomb and student manager Aleks Vidakovich. Holcomb and Vidakovich were kicking soccer balls into an empty net.

The party's final guests had just arrived. Rose and Scott Jahnky ushered their boys, Brandon, 9, and Justin, 4, over to the bleachers. Like Keegan, Brandon suffered from fragile X syndrome, so small guest lists and low decibel levels were his kind of party.

"Keegan, go play soccer with Aleks; let's play soccer with Aleks," Markus implored.

Keegan shook his head as he turned and walked back toward the bleachers. Why bother with soccer when there were four boxes of pizza over on the table waiting to be devoured?

Hunger pangs control Keegan's actions more frequently these days. The medications he takes help him concentrate and control his anxiety, but they also make him gain weight faster. Keegan's green nylon pants fit a little tight in the back. "He looks like a plumber at work," Katherine noted.

After Keegan took a few bites of a pepperoni slice, he began to walk away from the table. Markus kicked a ball toward him, and it bounced off the side of Keegan's left foot as he shuffled out the gym door.

"He couldn't care less about soccer," Markus said. "Sports are not really his thing."

*****

Pelaez remembers holding Keegan in 1997 and wondering what on earth everyone was talking about. There was nothing wrong with the little guy as far as he could tell. "He's healthy," Pelaez said. "It's OK."

What neither Pelaez nor anyone else could see was the mutation in Keegan's genetic makeup. They could not see the damage one single gene found hanging off the end of the X chromosome, the fragile X mental retardation 1 (FMR1) gene, was doing to Keegan's wiring.

Most cases of fragile X are not diagnosed until a child is 3 or 4, when symptoms like delayed speech or physical activity are more easily noticeable. Keegan was 6 months old. He looked like any other baby. He looked fine.

But when the Roeders received news that Katherine's sister's 4-year-old son, Andrew, had been diagnosed with fragile X, they took no chances. A blood test revealed Keegan shared his cousin's fate.

"It was pretty devastating," Katherine said. "You go through kind of a grieving almost. It's not like you lose your child, but you lose kind of all your dreams of what's going to happen in life. They told us he may never walk; he may never talk. There were a whole lot of ifs."

The Roeders immediately began to educate themselves on the disease that would shape the rest of their lives. They learned that fragile X is the most common inherited form of mental impairment. They learned that the FMR1 gene was shutting down the production of a protein needed for normal development.

They learned that their son would have to deal with severe ADHD, high anxiety levels and autism for the majority of his life.

Three days a week, Keegan attended speech, occupational and physical therapy at a Milwaukee child development center where he trained his muscles to remember how to hold a ball, grasp a pencil and stack blocks. The Roeders took pride in the skills their son developed, skills most parents took for granted in their children.

Keegan spent a brief stint in the Milwaukee Public School system's early childhood program. Four of the 25 kids in Keegan's class had special needs though, and the Roeders soon realized that one teacher and one aide were not enough to handle that load.

The family moved to Cedarburg, Wis., where it resides today, but the shift out of the city did not lessen the impact of Keegan's disease on those who remained.

"I'm not married; I have no kids," Pelaez said. "It was tough to understand. I'm engaged now. I shouldn't be scared, but in the back of your mind, you just want a healthy baby."

****

Keegan returned to the gymnasium with a bag full of stuffed animals and wool caps and scarves that he had retrieved from the family's car. He also returned without the plaid shirt he had previously donned.

He sat shirtless on the hardwood floor, his cheeks flushed and his brown hair tousled across his forehead. Keegan tossed the garments back and forth with his two friends Brandon and Justin, oblivious to what made him stand out among the trio.

Children with fragile X have heightened levels of sensory awareness. Some prefer the security of tight-fitting clothes. Others prefer the freedom their bare skin allows.

Pelaez runs downstairs to the soccer offices and returns with an oversized navy blue Marquette soccer T-shirt that extends to Keegan's knees. Keegan fidgets but keeps the shirt on, though it is clear he would rather be free.

*****

The Roeders moved north to Cedarburg when Keegan was 3 and a half. By that time, their son had developed quite the reputation. One day, a neighbor walked by the Roeders' yard and saw Keegan wearing a T-shirt down to his knees.

"Oh, I didn't recognize you," the neighbor told Keegan. "You have your clothes on."

Katherine likens her son's clothing-optional mindset to that annoying tag on the back of your shirt that is always itching and irritating your skin. That's what it is like for Keegan, except the sensation flows all over his body.

It's not the clothing that bothers Keegan, but the feel of something unfamiliar pressing against his skin. On several occasions, Katherine has witnessed one of Keegan's teachers lightly touch him on the shoulder, only to have him jerk away.

But he never jerks away from Katherine's touch, and he certainly does not jerk away from Markus. He knows their touch. He trusts their touch.

Despite the ADHD that causes him to switch from interest to interest without notice, Keegan fears change. He struggles to transition from speech therapy to occupational therapy, from occupational therapy to his special education class.

"The more of a routine it is, the more prepared they are walking into situations, the better they cope," Markus said of children with fragile X. "Sometimes, they have to step back a little bit and assess whether or not this is the right environment for them."

Katherine uses a calendar with picture cues to help him know when Markus will be out of town on recruiting trips or for away games. Keegan does not like to talk about Markus being gone. It upsets him. What he will do, though, is stare at the calendar when he thinks no one else is around. The pictures tell him when Daddy will leave, but they also let him know when Daddy will return.

"Before, when Markus was gone, he would just be so upset," Katherine said. "I would say, 'Daddy's going to be home tomorrow,' but he doesn't have the concept of tomorrow."

As parents, Markus and Katherine have grown to read Keegan and his needs as Keegan has grown to read himself. They noticed when Keegan was little that dimly lit restaurants upset him, so they avoid those types of joints.

They also noticed that Keegan does not do well in loud and crowded environments, which makes attending Marquette women's soccer games difficult.

Keegan would not pay attention to the action on the field anyway. The anxiety of being there but not being able to walk across the field and hang out with Daddy on the sidelines would be too much for him to handle.

Instead, Keegan occasionally tags along to team practices, where the atmosphere is more relaxed.

Earlier this fall, the Marquette women's soccer team was concluding a practice at Valley Fields, and Roeders circled up all the players for a final pep talk. He moved methodically from point to point, as he always did, and then he abruptly went silent.

His eye had caught onto something in the distance. The pause hung awkwardly in the air.

"I think my son is naked," Roeders said deadpanned. And with that, the practice ended.

Sure enough, the players turned around to see Keegan streaking across the other side of the field. Vidakovich jogged next to Keegan, holding his clothes and begging him to put them back on.

"He's in his own world," Vidakovich said of Keegan. "It's funny. He goes on impulse. Sometimes he doesn't see until after the fact what he did."

*****

After everyone enjoyed a few slices of pizza, Markus kick-started a game of leap frog with the three kids on the Marquette Gym basketball court. The grown man scoots over the top of Keegan's head and then squats down so that Keegan and his friends can have their turn.

Too small to hop over his father, Keegan slides between Markus' legs. His friends follow suit.

"Markus is as big a kid as they are," Katherine observed with a smile.

*****

Long before he was Roeders' assistant coach at Marquette, Dano Holcomb played for Roeders, then an assistant coach himself, at North Carolina-Asheville. In the offseason, Holcomb and Roeders would play indoor soccer together in adult leagues, and there was always a constant theme.

"He was the player that everyone looked up to," Holcomb said. "He had this built-in leadership quality. He was ambitious, determined, organized."

While attending UNC-Asheville, Roeders served as student government president, worked for a food services company, acted as a resident assistant and participated in a fraternity, in addition to playing and coaching soccer.

"He always had time to socialize as well," Holcomb said. "I always wondered, 'Man, how can he get all this done and still be the happy-go-lucky person he was?'"

Born in Idstedt, Germany to parents who made their livings as puppeteers, Roeders grew up in an environment in which work and play were both balanced and combined.

Now he fosters his son's imagination the way his parents did his own. Play leap frog. Act as a human bowling pin. Dress up in costumes with parts that don't match.

"I think I'm someone that kind of likes to be silly and make fun, and I don't necessarily worry about how people perceive me," Roeders said. "In some ways, I think (Keegan) is a little more like me, but obviously, he shapes us and how we live our lives."

Katherine said she believes Keegan has challenged Markus' core beliefs. Though raised homeopathic, Markus decided to put Keegan on medication and then witnessed the benefits of that decision.

"You see things in a little bit different light," Markus said. "There are so many things going on on the outside, you know. It's not just soccer for the players and their families and for us.

"It's not perfect, and life isn't perfect, but you deal with what's been given to you, and you make it your very best."

*****

Sitting crossed-legged as he tore open his first gift, Keegan leaned backward and spread his arms. "Wow! It's a frog! That's the biggest frog I've ever seen!" he said as he embraced his newest stuffed animal. "Give me the other one!"

Keegan takes the next gift, rips it open and delights in his discovery. "Wow! A toucan! It's a toucan!" he said.

After opening his final two gifts—a Scooby Doo DVD and a Spyro Playstation game—Keegan gets up and charges toward his father.

"Thank you, Daddy!" he said as he hugged his father tight.

"Thank you, Mommy!" he said after moving on to give his mother a hug as well. "This is the best birthday ever!"

With that, he strolled right out the gym door.

*****

Mondays and Fridays are the worst. A weekend with his parents is either fresh on Keegan's mind or too teasingly close to ignore.

That's how he ended up in his school's sensory room. He usually spends some time there each morning, calming down after the departure of whichever parent dropped him off.

On this recent Friday, Keegan crawled into a giant green cloth suspended from the ceiling like a swing. With "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" playing from a stereo on the far side of the room, Keegan swung round and round, sobbing all the while.

"I want my Mommy! I want my Mommy! I want to go home! Get me out of here!" he cried.

Winnie the Pooh curtains drawn over the windows kept the room dark as Karrimethia Edwards, Keegan's instructional aide, swung Keegan round and round. "Keegan, can you take a deep breath for me?" she asked.

After a few more Motown hits played, Keegan calmed down and followed Edwards into the school's computer lab.

Whether at home, at Markus' office or here, at the Oconomowoc Developmental Training Center, Keegan always can focus on electronics. He can neither spell nor write, but he can search YouTube with the best of them.

He toted a torn white handkerchief and