| Rayne Today Searching for dharma, in spite of the weather... Proud member of the Reality-Based Community
Oh nuts. I was afraid of that. He wandered stumblingly out into the family room, blinking in the still-bright lights, holding his blanket to his face. At seven years old, he should be well beyond a blanket, but he reverts to it when he feels he needs to. His older sister had control of the remote earlier in the evening; she’d been engrossed by a program about debunking paranormal events. He was engrossed too, arguing hotly with her each time she changed the channel to another show. She was trying to shield him from parts of the program that left too many unanswered questions in the mind of the viewer; he was having no part of this, wanting the full measure of the thrill. I should have stepped in and turned it off. At the time I thought that this might be a growth opportunity for him; perhaps if he was upset later, he would be able to see the connection between making the choice to watch over-stimulating programming and his response later in the evening to that show. I chased him back to bed, trying to mitigate his demands for me to lay down with him in his bed like some big human teddy bear. He wasn’t talking about ghosts; perhaps he was just overtired. He came back minutes later, bobbing and weaving his way like a drunken sailor, nearly tripping on his blanket. I can’t sleep, Mom. Okay, I’ll wrap up here, let’s go lay down on my bed until you can get settled. Will that make you feel better? He nods, his eyes shut, his blanket clutched to his face in a death grip. We lay down together as I turn on something numbing on television – the Weather Channel, turned down to barely audible level – and I snuggle against him. He squirms, trying to make himself comfortable, rotating around like a pet might, seeking that just-so position. This rouses him further. He’s now in that too-tired, hyper-talkative state, a free flow of consciousness beginning to stream from his mouth. Mom, I’m so angry. There’s too many people fighting. There are people who are black and white who are fighting. I want to stop the wars. I want to make it stop… Yes, there are too many people fighting. You need to get some rest so you can help solve the problems. I’ll rub your back. This always soothes him, rubbing the small of his back; it’s worked since he was an infant. Sometimes he’ll reach out and put my hand on his back when he needs to be comforted before sleep. He’s too disturbed and restless to do this now. I want to make them stop fighting, Mom. I want to invent a big remote control to click and shut them off, a big button to make them stop fighting and get along. How do I do it, Mom? I think that’s what I want to do when I grow up, make the wars stop. Make people who are black and white and different colors get along. Maybe I have to be a superhero to do it. I don’t know how to do it. Can you help me, Mom? Yes, dear, I will do whatever you need me to do to help you solve this. I swear this to him, realizing I’ve held my breath for a moment, listening to him. I can’t stop a tear from welling up, falling on my sleeve as I roll closer to him, hugging his small body. Ah. It wasn’t the ghost stories that got to him, after all. It was a Disney program he watched immediately afterwards, about a white South African girl visiting a black American family during the 1960’s or 1970’s, in the midst of apartheid. He mumbled about someone being shot and killed, like Martin Luther King was killed. He knows about this? I don’t remember ever discussing it with him. He must have learned about it at school or on television. I realize I was his age when Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, not much older when Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. I remember those events clearly, remember reading about them in the newspaper and watching new stories about these events on television. They had an enormous impact on me, and still do. Like a wave and the ripples that follow, these events still impact us, even this small bundle of wriggling, drowsy boy next to me. I rub his back again, feeling his muscles relax, knowing he’s only moments from drifting off. You don’t have problems at school about people having different color skin, do you? I can’t resist asking, wondering what else has propelled his young brain into this flurry this evening. Oh no, Mom, never, he says through a yawn. We all get along and when we disagree it’s about stuff like Pokemon or Santa Claus. Thank you, I hope not; you guys are all the same color inside, you know. I know, Mom. It’s all about what’s in our hearts. His eyes are heavy, shutting, his breath growing calmer. I can feel his ribcage moving evenly and slowly, his muscles now limp. He’s asleep. And I can’t fall asleep, laying there next to him for a couple of hours, wondering how I will fulfill my promise to him. My little superhero. 9:45:03 AM  comment []Sent an update by email to a friend:
There's more, I couldn't bring myself to choke it out to her. Feels like utter craziness here, what with kids needing help on book reports and math homework and laundry needing washing, folding, grocery shopping, dinner cooking, Democratic Party deadlines for resolutions that are still in draft form on my desktop, DFA Meetup to organize, phone calls and other peripheral projects in the works, all at the same time.
Might be too busy to post Wednesday, we'll see.
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Copyright 2005 © Rayne Today.
Last update: 3/1/2005; 3:23:52 PM.
Last update: 3/1/2005; 3:23:52 PM.