Kids his age bike down our streets. Flipping back their faux hawks, all lean shoulders and easy smiles. They chatter about Fortnite and Roblox and things I am too uncool to know. They yell and joke, their laughter carrying faint traces of the men they will soon become. Their parents worry about grades and missed projects. After school piano classes and weekend soccer practice. Pre teen boys, caught between disappearing childhoods and middle school crushes. How complicated they seem to me!
Two kids were running ahead of me. One was a pretty girl, with beautiful eyes and a curly ponytail. The other was a boy, happy and smiling, his eyes filled with special energy.
Corgis are magic. You couldn’t convince me otherwise.
They are tiny, ridiculous puffs of energy – all heart and floof. And they are bright. Incredibly so. Minnie gently waited, nosed, and hung around our autistic son for a WHOLE YEAR, before he reciprocated. She didn’t give up; she won him over and now they’re thick as thieves.
He was an autistic 8-year-old; not fond of animals. She was a feisty corgi puppy, determined to bite everyone in her path.
He screamed. She herded. He cried. She cocked her head and squeaked. But nevertheless she persisted.
Imagine you’re in the middle of the open sea. A good-sized boat, extra paddles should you need them and a hardy crew to help steer you through the bad storms. Plentiful food, a toasty spot under the sun and a warm blanket once the stars come out. Sure, there are big waves and fishes of all sizes under the water. If you look up, you might even catch some pesky grey clouds that hug the horizon. But it’s a decent, honest life. And it’s all you’ve known.
Now stick with me here and take this story further.
“Big black eyes and tiny nose,
I love you down to your toes.”
I hummed my daughter’s favourite rhyme while waiting at the Clinic. Nirav had finished his appointment and Anne, his therapist came out the swinging doors.
“He’s doing so well, Pavi! Did y-”
“Anne, I’m worried!”