Act 6, Scene 11: “The Vagaries of Memory”

It is said that a woman forgets the pain of childbirth – that the body is wired to not dwell on pain – so that she will get pregnant again. Instead, she has an emotional memory of holding her child for the first time, and lots of times to come. TRL senses that the opposite is true with four-year-olds. Because when people ask him how things are, how are the kids, his brain immediately dredges up C and E screaming and crying in the morning because they both want to sit at the same seat at the breakfast table. Or the “you are a bad daddy” that C shares when he doesn’t get something he wants. Or the timeouts, the timeouts for leaving a timeout, and then a timeout for the exact same infraction 15 minutes later. No wonder the criminal justice system is filled with repeat offenders.

But today TRL catches himself during his morning routine. Shaving, brushing teeth, getting ready for work. Because he is thinking about C & E, and can only focus on their bright smiles when they put on their brand new raincoats for the first time this morning. C has blue, E yellow. The have zippers, but also snaps to keep everything extra dry, and the boys insist on the full protection before walking with S out into the rain to go to daycare. They pose for a picture for S, and wrap their hands into each other’s, and smile proudly. It is that joy of expression, simple joy of ownership, pride at having a functional new thing, a smile for their mommy, holding each other’s hands, TRL stepping back so S could take the picture. This little nuclear family moment and the easy joy inherent in C and E’s happiness that TRL remembers this morning.