Christmas Break Narrative
all began when Christmas break started. Just like other kids, I was extremely excited for the break. It meant no school for two weeks, presents, and more importantly, no school for two weeks. I didn’t know what I wanted for Christmas that year. I had everything, it seemed. I had entertainment, a family that loved me, good grades, and a hobby that I loved: soccer. The only thing I could think of getting was the new DSi. I had a ds, but how could an upgrade hurt anyone? So as I added it to the list, I continued to think.
I looked around the room I had been in my whole life, my room. My walls painted blue (which I would now love to change), my bed covered in New York Yankees sheets (which I would also love to change). It was always somewhat clean, …show more content…
She had asked me to think of things I would think my brother would like, since we are both boys, and we have similar interests. I began to think. He had an iPad, and a Ds. Maybe he would want a DSi? I’d have to ask him. But then I thought, “But he can’t answer me. He doesn’t know how.” I thought of how it would feel, to have feelings and opinions, a life ahead of you, plenty of years left in your pocket, and then to realize that your only choice of living is to watch your brain live for you, instead of controlling the way you live? I thought of all the things I wouldn’t be able to do any more; play soccer, get good grades, play with friends. Oh, and my brother very seldom played with someone else. Whenever we took him to try to get him to play with one of his “friends,” I could tell that in his heart, he was not into this. I know he wanted out, and he wanted to play with his friends like I played with mine. But neither of the two brains knew how to do that, and it was almost impossible to teach them. I thought of how helpless I would feel, and how angry at the world I would be. I would always pray , and I would always say a prayer with these words.
I would kneel on my bed, in front of my picture of Jesus on the wall. “Dear God, please let Mario be a normal kid. Cure his autism and all the kids around the world who have autism. Help him experience all the things that I do. I want him to be able to live life the way he would want. I’d …show more content…
“Hi Bibo,” he said in his usually adorable voice.
“Listen,” I told him. “I know that you’re in there, and that you’re begging to get out. I want you to get out just as bad.”
“Yes,” he responded. He wasn’t responding to what I was saying, but rather to the fact that I was talking. He always responded in some way.
“I want you to be free and have a life that you can control,” I said. “And someday, I’m going to try my hardest to make sure that you can get that. I promise.
I took his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I sat there, unmoving, for a moment, until my mother called me to her.
My mom asked me if I could do a load of laundry.
“Of course, mom,” I replied.
Celine, my sister, was on the couch watching Netflix. Mario was still on the couch. My father working on his laptop, typing furiously, and my mom, doing the dishes. She always had some work to do. She seemed to never have a free moment of rest, or of relaxation, where she didn’t have something to do at that time. There were simply not enough hours in a day for her to rest.
I started to feel emotional about that, too, but that’s a story for another day. As I thought about this, I went to the dryer and started taking out
I looked around the room I had been in my whole life, my room. My walls painted blue (which I would now love to change), my bed covered in New York Yankees sheets (which I would also love to change). It was always somewhat clean, …show more content…
She had asked me to think of things I would think my brother would like, since we are both boys, and we have similar interests. I began to think. He had an iPad, and a Ds. Maybe he would want a DSi? I’d have to ask him. But then I thought, “But he can’t answer me. He doesn’t know how.” I thought of how it would feel, to have feelings and opinions, a life ahead of you, plenty of years left in your pocket, and then to realize that your only choice of living is to watch your brain live for you, instead of controlling the way you live? I thought of all the things I wouldn’t be able to do any more; play soccer, get good grades, play with friends. Oh, and my brother very seldom played with someone else. Whenever we took him to try to get him to play with one of his “friends,” I could tell that in his heart, he was not into this. I know he wanted out, and he wanted to play with his friends like I played with mine. But neither of the two brains knew how to do that, and it was almost impossible to teach them. I thought of how helpless I would feel, and how angry at the world I would be. I would always pray , and I would always say a prayer with these words.
I would kneel on my bed, in front of my picture of Jesus on the wall. “Dear God, please let Mario be a normal kid. Cure his autism and all the kids around the world who have autism. Help him experience all the things that I do. I want him to be able to live life the way he would want. I’d …show more content…
“Hi Bibo,” he said in his usually adorable voice.
“Listen,” I told him. “I know that you’re in there, and that you’re begging to get out. I want you to get out just as bad.”
“Yes,” he responded. He wasn’t responding to what I was saying, but rather to the fact that I was talking. He always responded in some way.
“I want you to be free and have a life that you can control,” I said. “And someday, I’m going to try my hardest to make sure that you can get that. I promise.
I took his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I sat there, unmoving, for a moment, until my mother called me to her.
My mom asked me if I could do a load of laundry.
“Of course, mom,” I replied.
Celine, my sister, was on the couch watching Netflix. Mario was still on the couch. My father working on his laptop, typing furiously, and my mom, doing the dishes. She always had some work to do. She seemed to never have a free moment of rest, or of relaxation, where she didn’t have something to do at that time. There were simply not enough hours in a day for her to rest.
I started to feel emotional about that, too, but that’s a story for another day. As I thought about this, I went to the dryer and started taking out