Post by Rhonda on Jan 24, 2006 21:17:03 GMT -5
Marty's Friends
By
James M. Jertson
When
Marty was three, he commuted to work with me for a whole year, to company
day care and home again in a carpool of my colleagues. We grew pretty
attached.
When Marty was four, his mom and I hired a babysitter in the cul-de-sac
where we lived - long days with the quiet and gentle Mrs. Olson.
At Mrs. Olson's, Marty created his two imaginary friends, Shawn and Kawn. He
told us that Shawn and Kawn were homeless children and that he had decided
to adopt them.
The little guys were forever at Marty's side - giggling, joking, whispering.
Marty assigned each of them a place at the table, a shared upper bunk, and
seats in the car. Their one-liners, translated by Marty, would have us all
in stitches. Of course, Shawn and Kawn were invisible. Only Marty could see
them.
Marty's seven-year-old brother, Jimmy, would roll his eyes in head-shaking,
shoulder-shrugging acceptance of Shawn and Kawn and all their secret capers.
Occasionally, of course, they were scapegoats for Jimmy's own mishaps.
Marty was almost five when his mom and I separated. A short time later, we
were divorced. After a weekend together at my small city apartment, I was
packing up for the drive home to Mom's. Coming in for one more load, I heard
Marty in the bathroom, crying. I opened the door. There sat Marty on the
commode, his lower lip laden with sadness.
I had one anguished thought - he wants to move in. He looked at me and said,
"Daddy, I'm going to miss Shawn and Kawn." Then he glanced at the bathtub,
which was filled with sudsy water and floating toys.
"But they're in the car with Jimmy," I said, "ready to go with you."
Marty shook his head slowly, then sucked a breath. "No Daddy, they're in the
tub. We've been doing a lot of talking this weekend. Shawn and Kawn decided
that they were going to live with you from now on. We didn't want you to be
lonely anymore."
Later that night, I walked in the park, Shawn and Kawn in tow. It was hard
holding back the tears, knowing that the most loving thing I had felt in a
long time had been the gift of his friends from my four-year-old son.
By
James M. Jertson
When
Marty was three, he commuted to work with me for a whole year, to company
day care and home again in a carpool of my colleagues. We grew pretty
attached.
When Marty was four, his mom and I hired a babysitter in the cul-de-sac
where we lived - long days with the quiet and gentle Mrs. Olson.
At Mrs. Olson's, Marty created his two imaginary friends, Shawn and Kawn. He
told us that Shawn and Kawn were homeless children and that he had decided
to adopt them.
The little guys were forever at Marty's side - giggling, joking, whispering.
Marty assigned each of them a place at the table, a shared upper bunk, and
seats in the car. Their one-liners, translated by Marty, would have us all
in stitches. Of course, Shawn and Kawn were invisible. Only Marty could see
them.
Marty's seven-year-old brother, Jimmy, would roll his eyes in head-shaking,
shoulder-shrugging acceptance of Shawn and Kawn and all their secret capers.
Occasionally, of course, they were scapegoats for Jimmy's own mishaps.
Marty was almost five when his mom and I separated. A short time later, we
were divorced. After a weekend together at my small city apartment, I was
packing up for the drive home to Mom's. Coming in for one more load, I heard
Marty in the bathroom, crying. I opened the door. There sat Marty on the
commode, his lower lip laden with sadness.
I had one anguished thought - he wants to move in. He looked at me and said,
"Daddy, I'm going to miss Shawn and Kawn." Then he glanced at the bathtub,
which was filled with sudsy water and floating toys.
"But they're in the car with Jimmy," I said, "ready to go with you."
Marty shook his head slowly, then sucked a breath. "No Daddy, they're in the
tub. We've been doing a lot of talking this weekend. Shawn and Kawn decided
that they were going to live with you from now on. We didn't want you to be
lonely anymore."
Later that night, I walked in the park, Shawn and Kawn in tow. It was hard
holding back the tears, knowing that the most loving thing I had felt in a
long time had been the gift of his friends from my four-year-old son.