Life, Animated by Ron Suskind Read Free Book Online Page B

he’ll model his behavior on those new peers and may form relationships that will stretch his capabilities, and rise to meet their challenge. To us, that all feels like sunshine.
    Denial and hope, of course, are cousins. Bring them together, you’ve got illusion. There’s no real social connection occurring at NCRC. At least, not for Owen. Cornelia and I, though, find plenty of it. We make lots of friends . Parents of typical kids, who are happy to welcome us into their orbit. Owen is now mixing in a group of children who are still at an age where their friends are often selected by the parents. With so few kids in each class, it all fits elegantly: a tight gang of two dozen parents and a dozen or so children, moving as one. Parties, barbecues, and then evenings when the parents all go out and have the kids all stay with a babysitter at someone’s house. The best part: birthday parties. Everyone in the class is invited. It’s beyond parental edict; it’s a school rule!
    Not that there’s much interaction at those birthday parties. But everyone has a VCR and everyone has the Disney classics. So there is a bit of exchange, a hug or “hi” (one of Owen’s new words) upon arrival; then they’ll watch Jungle Book or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs together, side by side, until the other kids drift away. Squint a bit, and it looks a lot like friendship.
    As for Walt… nothing to worry about. He’s like a junior adult at seven, able to handle anything that first grade can throw at him, and taking advantage of all Lafayette Elementary, our neighborhood public school in Northwest DC, has to offer.
    Everyone crafts stories out of their experiences, a fundamental human impulse, and Cornelia and I have one for Walt.
    It happened in the first month of first grade as Cornelia drove him to this new school. Daunting for any kid, right?Well, a few blocks away, Walt taps his mother on the arm and says, “Let me out—I can walk from here, mom.” Cornelia’s flummoxed. “Walt…they know you have parents. You’re not some street urchin making your way in the world.”
    “I’ll be fine. I know the way.” And off he goes. Soon he starts biking the half mile or so to school, eliciting shock from a few of his classmates’ parents—seasoned by years of milk carton photos to fear the worst.
    We never fear for him. It seems like every step he takes toward autonomy is a worthy feat, deserving of affirmation, especially because he doesn’t abandon his brother, something we really do fear.
    Many years later, as he moved into adult life, Walt explained what was really going on. He was embarrassed by his brother. The looks, the questions, it was as though he was facing a wide world of prying eyes, too many to challenge, to face down. He told us he wanted to be dropped off because his brother was in the car. Walt knew that if Cornelia walked him in that first day, like the other moms, she’d have to bring Owen in with her. And God knows what might have happened.
    In present tense, we’re blind to this. We tell friends of the first day drop-off. Turn it into narrative. That Walt. He is so independent.
    There are no stares in our basement. As Owen turns five in the spring of 1996, his life is, more and more, spent in front of a screen, with Walt sometimes at his side. The Disney movies—we now had fifteen of them in our collection, and some shorts—rule the subterrain.
    That’s where the big TV is in the new house. It’s a cave, dark and warm, with just a little natural light from the half windows near the ceiling. On the couch, we watch movies with Owen. Family members move in a rotation. Owen, after a heavily scheduled day of school and after-school therapies, settles down below. Corn might drop in to watch Lady and the Tramp with him. When he gets home on his bike in the late afternoon, Walt catches a viewing of The Little Mermaid . In the evenings, before Owen’s off to bed, I squeeze in a little Aladdin .
    Is this healthy?