Discovering The Truth The Hard Way

Some discoveries are bittersweet. On the one hand we're happy to know; on the other, we wish we didn't. Such was the case when our son Barrett discovered that he was not, as he had presumed, our only child. He shared our affections with an older sister.

Our daughter Jenny was eight years old when Barrett was born. She was, of course, the larger of the two, but that didn't last long. On the day that he was born, Barrett was able to do more than Jenny ever did in her twenty-two years. He soon outstripped her physically, becoming her caretaker of sorts. Blind and profoundly retarded, Jenny was living at the Conway Human Development Center when Barrett arrived on the scene.

Because we wanted Barrett to love and be familiar with his sister, we moved to Conway so we could visit Jenny and bring her home daily. We always referred to Jenny as his sister and called each other Mama and Daddy in front of the two of them. We assumed he understood the relationships. We assumed too much about the depth of the little fella's comprehension.

One day when Mary and Barrett went to pick up Jenny, she was fussing. The lady explained, " Jenny is just wantin' her mama." That must have awakened Barrett's consciousness. He suddenly wondered who Jenny's mama might be. He knew that people besides himself had mamas. Judy was Patrick's mama. Linda was Anna's mama. Diane was Andrew's mama.

On arriving home, Jenny began fussing again. Barrett approached his mama with no small concern. "Jenny's fussing." Mary repeated the puzzling phrase he had heard just a little while before. "Oh, she's just wantin' her mama." Curiosity now aroused, he popped the question that had been rattling around in his subconscious. "Who is Jenny's mama?"

With some incredulity, Mary gently explained, "Well, I am, Barrett!"

Now he was obviously wounded. "You're Jenny's Mama?" Ever so slowly, he deeply and painfully sighed, "I didn't know that."

No lance every hurled by a noble knight of the Roundtable ever hit its mark so perfectly. It went straight into her heart. "My little son. I am so sorry. I thought you knew."

His little elbow rested on the table, his little head rested in the palm of his hand, his wounded little face had a furrowed brow. "No, I didn't know."

He processed these successive waves of unexpected revelation with much gravity. But one more wave was yet to come; the puzzle still missed a crucial piece. Fearing what it might be, he momentarily hesitated. Then he cautiously, slowly, extended the final question that would collapse the mystery like a house of cards.

"Who is Jenny's daddy?"

Copyright 2000 James McAlister

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