Not Always Happy
Page 24
I wanted to think I had more to offer than transportation, but at least she was trying to keep me alive.
“Chickens,” he said followed by obnoxiously accurate chewing noises.
Thorin went off to play.
“He’s imaginative,” my mom said.
“I hope that’s what it is.”
I put out a Facebook post asking for parental feedback. The best answer was from a friend who taught literature and was also a mother: “Stories and imagination are the places they get to transgress with impunity. Let him go!” So I did. I wrote up the story, and we used it as part of his reading. To go with his story, Thorin drew a robot, a zombie chicken, and me.
As our first year of unschooling came to end, I took Thorin to his favorite Mexican restaurant for our end-of-the-school-year celebration lunch. He and I hadn’t talked much about his last year of public school, but it seemed like a good opportunity to open the door.
“Thorin, do you miss going to school?”
“I miss Walt,” told me mournfully.
“I know, me too. But, not school?”
“Not school,” he said.
“I’ve been wracking my brains trying to think of your first grade teacher’s name.” I had developed a block when it came to her.
Thorin kept his head down eating.
“Thorin, I can see her plain as day, what’s her name?”
“Kicky Waters,” he said.
My heart sank. “Oh, no! Really?”
“Yes.”
While I was taking in what he said, I remembered her name.
“Mrs. Bruce! She’s Baby Robot Teacher, Kicky Waters?”
“Yes!” he said unequivocally.
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Last year, I asked if you knew what the problem was at school. You said, ‘I do. It’s me.’”
Thorin nodded his head.
“Do you still think that’s true?” I asked.
“No.” His voice was strong. I believed him.
“You know it’s them?”
“Yes,” he said smiling.
“We should have left school earlier.” Remorse filled my voice.
“Yes.”
“Daddy and I are so sorry, you know that, right?” I felt horrible.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“No, it’s not. Thorin, what did you think about in school? How did you do it, Thorin?”
“King of Asgard.”
“The King of Asgard?”
“Odin’s son, King of Asgard.”
“You were Thor? That’s how you did it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Thorin, brilliant!” I willed myself to hold back tears. Thorin was not upset. This moment was not about me but about him.
He smiled.
We continued silently enjoying our food. I felt a wave inside me take me back to the previous year, creating the Pictello presentation for class: Thorin insisting on dressing as Thor and then looking into the camera to say, “I am Thor.” Sitting in the restaurant with Thorin, I placed my hands on the table to ground myself, the same as I did the day I met him. Thorin had told his classmates, whether they understood or not, that he was powerful. My son is powerful; the thumping in my heart made it true.
I fell further into past memories to the day I told Thorin he had Down syndrome. I had feared for him. I wanted to protect him. I knew him well enough to know I must tell him he had super powers like the Avengers he loved. Together they are invincible, just like our family.
I’m back to the present again. I have stopped eating. I look at Thorin, his size belittling the multitudes he contains. Whitman is whispering.
I fall back to the day Ward suggested the blog be called Thunder Boy, based on Thorin’s name. We never considered the Avengers. Prescient?
Finally, as the wave brought me back, I thought of Thorin’s parents who had named him after Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of the Company of Dwarves in The Hobbit, who makes the heroic journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from the fearsome dragon Smaug. Sitting across from Thorin, it was easy for me to imagine him as a hero who survived the challenges placed upon him. I prayed deeply that the legacy of his namesake portended a life of adventure, accomplishments, and love even I couldn’t imagine for him.
Updates on the unusual journey of Thorin, Kari, and Ward can be found at
ATYPICALSON.COM