Atticus J Hunt...named after the larger than life character "Atticus Finch" from Harper Lee's novel To Kill A Mockingbird. Of course Gregory Peck playing him in the movie didn't at all hinder the name choice either. He's two foot nothing. Faster than lightening. Has already mastered a shit-eating-grin. Has a way with the ladies. Knows how to get what he wants, or drive you insane trying. Loves brushing his teeth. Tasting toilet water with his hands. And always wants YOUR utensil while eating...
I'm sure people think I embellish some of this guy's antics. Not. One. Bit. I have become so accustomed to them, the other night when we had company, they were marveling at what he was doing. We were in the kitchen, I sort of had zoned him out, as he was wanting in some locked drawer. I turned to look, upon my friends request, to find him trying to pry open one of the locks with a spatula. While I wasn't at all shocked by his actions (the kid is an evil genius), it was however gratifying to see that someone ELSE was catching an eyeful of him first hand...
But, a lot of what he does, okay maybe only 7% of it, I mentally write off. I owe him that. When our lives changed last November, he was sort of my unlicensed therapist. At the time I'd be up with him in the wee hours feeding him a bottle, then again, in the twilight of the evening. In the soft light of his room I would whisper things...mainly just think out loud, thankful at times that he couldn't answer. I would look up and see the picture of his Dad in his room. I would at times feel sorry for him...the fact that he would not only not remember him, but also that any story he would hear would never really be his own. We did a lot of therapy sessions in the beginning, he and I, and I was grateful that he was so little, just so that if I wanted to cry, he wouldn't be the wiser...that was then.
Tonight, as he was wearing mac-n-cheese in his ears from dinner, I took just him up for a bath, usually it's a co-ed affair with Nora. His vocabulary is growing, and two words like 'ice cream' or 'bath' elicit a gleeful gasp from him. That is also to say, you never turn your back on him when the tub is filling up, as he will jump in (toothbrush in hand of course), as if he is in an Olympic size pool. As he was sitting there, filling up cups, brushing his teeth, splashing around...those old feelings sort of flooded in.
Feeling like his life story already is something out of a Greek Tragedy. He has lost a parent he'll never remember. He's told regularly that he looks like his Dad (which I know is at times astounding, however it is also slightly hurtful to the other kids in this house that are in earshot). He's left with his screw-ball mother. And lastly, his three siblings, who lets face it, would at times allow him to play with a badger for some beef jerky....But then, as I was having one of our old silent tear sessions, it occurred to me...While no, he won't remember his Dad, he's not really left with as much loss either. He will be able to hear stories about this really colorful person. However, these stories won't have the same emotional connection, as they will be stories about a great guy who he has no recollection of meeting. His 'loss' as everyone else, including myself, might have seen it, really doesn't have to be.
And as I am talking to him, 20 years from now...using the sanctioned phone, looking through the bullet proof glass on 'Family Visiting Day', complimenting him that all of his tattoos are spelled correctly, at some fine penitentiary...I will remember those hours of twilight that we shared, how much he has taught me, how blessed that I am to have him, and how grateful I am that he's my last.
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