I knew it was 2010 when the sound of exploding gun powder resonated through the neighborhood. Without the generousity of the jerkoff somewhere on the street outside, I would have slept right through it. Fortunately, it seems as if my Sweet Lady, Tallulah, and the Tbombs were not also alerted to the decennial transition. All except Baby Mags who was not going to let her first New Year’s Eve pass unobserved. So really me, Cati, and Mags were ringing it in.
Not partying until the wee hours did not dissuade us from sleeping in. All except Big D who woke according to schedule. That schedule being 8:30, it was not such a hard yoke to bear. Big D is a man of routines and wants to know what to expect. Having been born with multiple challenges physically as well as developmentally, Big D takes pleasure in the little things which are tremendously more difficult for him to communicate or accomplish.
These challenges are obvious when it come to, oh, walking, playing, or speaking. The remarkable nature of his life and personality came home to me one day as I held a bag of Cheetos. Big wanted a Cheeto. He might have been ok with my feeding him, but he was perfectly satisfied – and in no hurry – to do it himself. Grasping the Cheeto was the first obstacle. Having wedged a puff of corn between two stiffened fingers, his next task was to lift it with an arm that lacks most of the normal range of motion.
If the cheeto made it to the Big Man’s mouth, he would have to hold it there with his lips and tongue since his teeth had long since been knocked out by an anesthesiologist during one of maybe a dozen surgical procedures. Most of the time, the cheesy fritter of delight never made it so far but fell like manna from above to a displaced tribe of ants. Without complaining, Biggie would start the process again. On the rare occasions that Big D bested Chester Cheeto, I wanted to cheer the accomplishment. The Big Man was satisfied with eating his reward, just like any other kid.