It happens sometimes
Harrys parents had been waiting for him for years, but the pregnancy turned out to be a tough one and he arrived early, a tiny bundle in a neonatal incubator. Many of his organs were underdeveloped, so he needed a ventilator, two surgeries and a retinal detachment repair. They even had to say goodbye to him twice before he pulled through.
Soon it became clear that Harry could barely see or hear. His body gradually caught up he learned to sit, grab a toy, lean on a support but his mind stayed stubbornly stuck. At first his parents clung to hope together; then his father seemed to fade into the background, leaving Emma to fight the battle alone.
When Harry was three and a half, a NHS quota allowed them to fit him with cochlear implants. He could now hear, yet his development stalled. He attended countless sessions with specialeducation teachers, speech therapists, psychologists and a parade of other specialists. Emma brought Harry to see me many times.
I kept suggesting new exercises, new tools, new tricks. Emma tried everything, but the results were nil. Most of the time Harry sat quietly in his playpen, turning a plastic ring on the floor, tapping it, chewing his own hand, sometimes letting out a single, mournful wail, other times a highpitched, almost musical squeak. Emma swore he recognised her voice, would call her with a special trill and loved having his back and feet scratched.
Eventually an elderly psychiatrist shrugged, Whats the diagnosis now? A walking vegetable. Decide what to do with him and move on. Keep him or let him go youve learned the routine, havent you? I see no point holding out for a miracle or burying yourself in his playpen. He was the only person who spoke plainly. Emma placed Harry in a specialneeds nursery and went back to work.
A few months later she bought a motorbike a longstanding dream. She started cruising the lanes around Birmingham with a band of fellow riders; the roar of the engine swept away every anxious thought. Harrys father paid child support, and Emma spent it on weekend carers. Harry wasnt terribly high maintenance once you got used to his quirks.
One rider, Mike, turned to Emma one day and said, Theres something oddly tragic yet fascinating about you.
Come on, Ill show you, Emma replied.
Mike smiled, assuming she meant a night out. She led him to Harry, who was bright and noisy, squeaking as if hed just recognised his mother or been spooked by a stranger.
Blimey, what a little devil! Mike exclaimed.
And what did you think he was, a demon? Emma shot back.
Soon they were not just riding together but living together. They agreed that Mike wouldnt approach Harry (theyd discussed it beforehand) and Emma kept her distance too. Then Mike suggested, Lets have a baby.
Emma snapped, What if we get another one like this?
Mike fell silent for almost a year, then finally whispered, No, lets try.
Oliver was born, perfectly healthy. Mike, halfjoking, asked, Shall we put Harry in a care home now that weve got a proper son?
Emma retorted, Id hand you over first.
Mike backed off, muttering, I was only asking
When Oliver was about nine months old, he discovered Harry, who at that point was just beginning to crawl. Oliver was instantly fascinated, while Mike grew wary, warning Emma not to let the little boy get near Harry. But Mike was often at work or on his bike, and Emma let Oliver explore. Whenever Oliver crawled next to Harry, the latter stayed silent, as if listening and waiting. Oliver would bring toys, demonstrate how to play, even fiddling with Harrys tiny fingers.
One weekend Mike fell ill and stayed home. He saw Oliver wobbling around the flat, babbling, with Harry trailing like a loyal shadow in the corner of the room. Mike erupted, demanding a fence around his son to keep him away from that idiot. Emma pointed silently toward the door.
Mikes eyes widened, he calmed down, and they made peace. Emma later visited me and said, Hes a lump of wood, but I love him, ridiculous, isnt it?
Its natural, I replied. Loving your child no matter what
Actually I was talking about Mike, Emma clarified. Harry is dangerous for Oliver. What do you think?
I said the data showed Oliver was the stronger partner, but supervision was still essential. They agreed on that.
By eighteen months Oliver taught Harry to stack blocks by size. Oliver himself could form sentences, sing simple songs and recite nursery rhymes like The crow baked porridge.
Emma asked, Is he a prodigy?
Mike, puffed up with pride, muttered something about fathers not bragging at that age.
I think its because of Harry, I suggested. Not every toddler gets to be the locomotive of someone elses development.
Right! Emma beamed. Ill tell this wooden block what its worth.
I thought of the family as a walking vegetable, a wooden block with eyes, a biker mum and a budding prodigy. After learning to use the potty, Oliver spent half a year coaxing Harry to follow suit, to eat, drink from a cup, dress and undress a task Emma had already assigned him.
At three and a half Oliver asked, Whats up with Harry, anyway?
First off, he cant see much, Oliver replied.
Can he? Oliver countered. Just a bit. He sees better when the lights right. The bathroom lamp above the mirror works best.
An optometrist was astonished when a threeyearold was brought in to explain Harrys vision, but he listened, ordered more tests and prescribed complex glasses.
Harry never fitted in at the local nursery. He should be in school already! What a clever chap, the staff member grumbled. He knows more than anyone else here.
I opposed an early school start, insisting Oliver should stick to clubs and keep working on Harrys development. Mike, surprisingly, sided with me and told Emma, Stay with them until school. Whats a silly nursery ever do for him? And have you noticed your sons been quiet for a year?
Six months later Harry announced, Mum, dad, Oliver, give me a drink, meowmeow. Both boys entered secondary school together. Oliver fretted, How will he manage without me? Will the specialists really help? Will they understand him? In Year5 he still does lessons with Harry first, then his own.
Harry now speaks in short sentences, can read and use a computer, loves cooking and tidying (under Olivers or Emmas watchful eye), enjoys sitting on the garden bench and watching, listening, smelling. He knows every neighbour and always greets them. He delights in molding plasticine, building and dismantling LEGO.
But above all, he loves the family rides on motorbikes down country lanes Emma on hers, Oliver with Mike, all of them shouting into the wind.
