June 22, 2010
-
Eddy.
For at least the rest of this week I will be chronicling the life and times of a little boy who is attending the camp I work at.
This boy is named Eddy. Eddy, is an 8 year-old little light skinned black boy from Worcester. And is one of the most fascinating children I have ever worked with. He stands at a wiry 4’7”, has curly cropped hair cut in a flat-top-like fashion, squinty eyes and a smile-less mouth.
Apparently, according to my boss, Eddy couldn’t attend camp last year because the sound of the gym intimidated him. I assumed it meant the laughter, yelling, dribbling, screeching, whistle-blowing and all other assorted noises echoing in the gym. Which, in itself is strange because why would go to a sports camp in the first place if you didn’t know you were going to be in a gym? It also could just mean that the way this kid’s mind works means that the gym was talking to him. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him.
I think Eddy squints his eyes because it’s the only way he can see the world we consider reality. He goes through it like a man caught in a trip from 1964 on Haight-Ashbury. He’s there and he’s aware, but he’s aware of EVERYTHING else.
He raises his hand in the middle of the Camp Director’s directions to tell us that soccer is his favorite sport.
He looks at the deep end of the pool to inform us that is, in fact, taller than his mom.
He takes the longest time to get changed after swim in the locker room. Not because he is incapable of clothing himself but because he literally takes time to contemplate in between each item. It’s time like that I want to read minds. I would never want that power at any point, its so immoral I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. But Eddy makes me want to.
Today, we are in the locker room again. After a rousing swim in the outdoor pool. The kids are all in the locker room. They dry off and get dressed. Eddy is just standing. I say, “Eddy how about we try and get dressed.” Eddy stares. I laugh at the absurdity of this kid’s existence. He stares. We eventually get his swimming trunks off and his underwear on, a sock and shoe on. I turn to help tie a kid’s sneaker as he is about to be the next to last person to leave. I turn back and Eddy has a sock on his hand repeatedly saying, “I’m a puppet, I’m a puppet!”
I can’t understand him. I can just write about him. You’ll get an update everyday I encounter him.
