Jousting

Two years ago, when Errol was diagnosed with mental retardation we cried and cried.

Errol’s favorite piece of therapeutic equipment sits atop four wheels, has a tight turning radius, and is called The Bronco. Errol is riding his tricked-out Bronco across the living room floor. He has a massive grin on his face and is laughing at the top of his lungs. His unsuspecting brother waves a foam sword at Errol, who rolls towards him at full speed. Owen is laughing too; he doesn’t yet see that Errol has a foam sword of his own wedged under his arm. It’s pointed right at Owen. They joust. Errol wins again.

Errol can’t talk, he can’t walk, he can’t even sit up by himself. Sometimes when I’m feeding Errol and he bobbles his head and gets food all over himself and me I think, “why can’t you just eat like a normal kid?” (Not very empathetic, you might rightly think. As if Errol really chose to be wheelchair bound!) Sometimes I see other kids his age running around, playing, and I think that Errol will never have these simple pleasures.

We went to a play tonight. Errol laughs at the funny parts and he laughs at the serious parts. He laughs right through the whole damn play. Errol is ever more connected with the world outside him. He keeps swiveling his little head around, mid-laugh, to see his mother, then me, to make sure we get the joke. We do (Hamlet’s soliloquy was hilarious!) When Errol thinks something is funny, it is.

Errol is mentally retarded, but now we just laugh and laugh.