Monsters in the Closet
Rian had a good friend in Williamsburg - a good friend, who, after a particularly harrowing testicle loss story shall be forever in Rian's mine known as Poor Peter - who grew up in a rather large family. When Rian knew Poor Peter, he was an adult, and living on his own, but nearby said family, as they needed both his help and monetary support.
Peter's younger brother was born mentally handicapped. Rian does not think with Downs', and perhaps not with anything particular other than a few missing chromosomes. Chris was not the gentle creature one often runs into at a Special Olympics benefit. When Rian lived in Williamsburg, Chris was 18, struggling through puberty, and growing very large.
The family could not control him. He would hit his mother when angry, and attack his father. Poor Peter was the only creature on earth who could - quite literally - press some sense into the child.
One Thanksgiving....it must have been 1995 or 1996...Peter's father and Peter's brother had a raging argument over the turkey. Chris stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Peter's father stood up from the table, stormed after, and dropped dead of a heart attack on the bathroom floor.
Rian often, still, thinks of the poor manchild who did not have the skills needed to control his anger, nor truly, perhaps, to understand the hurt he engendered. And what would such a trauma do the struggling mind beyond the teenager's gangly body? He will live with half understanding forever.
I think of Chris when I am angry. It is a much more extreme version of that old mothers' warning, "Never go to bed angry, there are monsters in the closet..."
It is true. Life does not give us endless time to sulk or swear. We cannot say, "I will forgive next week", because next week may not come.
Peter's younger brother was born mentally handicapped. Rian does not think with Downs', and perhaps not with anything particular other than a few missing chromosomes. Chris was not the gentle creature one often runs into at a Special Olympics benefit. When Rian lived in Williamsburg, Chris was 18, struggling through puberty, and growing very large.
The family could not control him. He would hit his mother when angry, and attack his father. Poor Peter was the only creature on earth who could - quite literally - press some sense into the child.
One Thanksgiving....it must have been 1995 or 1996...Peter's father and Peter's brother had a raging argument over the turkey. Chris stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Peter's father stood up from the table, stormed after, and dropped dead of a heart attack on the bathroom floor.
Rian often, still, thinks of the poor manchild who did not have the skills needed to control his anger, nor truly, perhaps, to understand the hurt he engendered. And what would such a trauma do the struggling mind beyond the teenager's gangly body? He will live with half understanding forever.
I think of Chris when I am angry. It is a much more extreme version of that old mothers' warning, "Never go to bed angry, there are monsters in the closet..."
It is true. Life does not give us endless time to sulk or swear. We cannot say, "I will forgive next week", because next week may not come.
posted by La Tulipe | 3:55 PM
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