A Beautiful Mind?
Jan. 31st, 2010 09:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
porphyryMalkhos's mind works in interesting ways. His way of thinking is so different from mine, it's amazing we get along so well. I think in a linear, sequential fashion, as if I perpetually have a list in my head that is orderly and logical--first you do this, then you do this, and so on. If I do something enough, it becomes habitual so that I don't really have to think about it.
Not him. He can do something, with my instruction, over and over again, and it never becomes habit. Also, if he thinks he's done something--washed the dishes, for example--he's done it whether reality proves otherwise, which is to say that the dishes were not, in fact, done. "I meant to do it," he'll say, completely perplexed. "I thought I did." And so, in his mind, because he thought he did, he did. I guess you could say he exists completely in his mind; never mind that it doesn't correspond with reality.
And he can't remember things that, to my way of thinking, don't even require thought. You just answer. You don't think about it at all. He'd be in terrible shape if he were in an auto accident. A protocol that paramedics follow is to ask a person questions just like that--ones that don't require thought--to see how coherent you are. Simple things like, "What month is it?" or "Who is the President of the United States?" I just hope if we're ever in an accident (heaven forbid) that I can answer the questions for him. Malkhos would have no idea. He'd hesitate, knit up his brows, and start questioning the paramedics about what such questions have to do with the matter at hand. I just hope I can answer the questions for him.
I can even predict, given my propensity for order, when he'll have trouble. Yesterday, for example, Andrew had to go to the doctor. It turns out Andrew has strep throat, which can be treated with antibiotics. So after taking Andrew to the doctor, Malkhos dropped off Andrew's prescription at the pharmacy, dropped Andrew off at home, and then went back to pick up the medicine. Malkhos was gone a long time.
"Where's Dad?" Andrew asked anxiously. He wanted to get started on his medicine because he knows it will help him get better.
"Oh, hung up at Walgreens," I said. "He'll be back soon."
"It's taking too long!" Andrew said. "They said it would only take ten minutes."
"For a normal person," I said. "I'm sure I know what the problem is."
"What?" Andrew asked.
"The pharmacist is going to ask your father, as a means of identifying that they are giving the medicine to the right person--you--when your birthday is. Possibly they'll ask him for our phone number. Those two questions will overwhelm him."
"He doesn't know my birthday? He doesn't know our phone number?" Andrew asked, amazed.
"Probably not offhand," I said.
And I was right. When Malkhos finally got back, I asked what took so long. He informed me that the first pharmacy was out of Zithromax, so he had to go to another pharmacy that did have it.
"Oh," I said. "Well, then, I apologize. I thought you'd gotten hung up because you couldn't remember Andrew's birthday."
"They did vex me about that," Malkhos replied. "At both places. That's so unreasonable."
So I was right. "Unreasonable that you should know your own son's birthday?"
He hesitated before he asked me the next question although I already knew what it was. "What year was he born?" he said.
"You don't know?" I said, unable to resist and enjoying his discomfort.
"No, I don't!"
"He was born on June 7, 2003," I said, really wanting to ask him what day of the week that occurred on as well as what time Andrew was born, two things I'd know instantly but Malkhos couldn't answer if his life depended on it.
"2003?" Malkhos asked. "Was that the year?"
"Yes," I confirmed.
"Well, I got the date right. I told them he was going to be seven," he said. "That should have been enough for them."
This has nothing to do with the ability to do simple math. I'm sure Malkhos wasn't even clear what year we're in now. Maybe I should call Walgreens and instruct the pharmacy to not ask questions like that. Rather, when they see Malkhos coming, they should ask, "Is the fact that IIIEnoch is written in High Church Slovonic prima facia evidence that it's a forgery?" He'd answer that right away, without thinking.
But Andrew got his medicine in the end, and I made my peace with this years ago. I knew then that this was something that could either irritate me eternally or endear me, so I chose latter. I chuckle every time I do the dishes in the morning that Malkhos thought he'd done.
Not him. He can do something, with my instruction, over and over again, and it never becomes habit. Also, if he thinks he's done something--washed the dishes, for example--he's done it whether reality proves otherwise, which is to say that the dishes were not, in fact, done. "I meant to do it," he'll say, completely perplexed. "I thought I did." And so, in his mind, because he thought he did, he did. I guess you could say he exists completely in his mind; never mind that it doesn't correspond with reality.
And he can't remember things that, to my way of thinking, don't even require thought. You just answer. You don't think about it at all. He'd be in terrible shape if he were in an auto accident. A protocol that paramedics follow is to ask a person questions just like that--ones that don't require thought--to see how coherent you are. Simple things like, "What month is it?" or "Who is the President of the United States?" I just hope if we're ever in an accident (heaven forbid) that I can answer the questions for him. Malkhos would have no idea. He'd hesitate, knit up his brows, and start questioning the paramedics about what such questions have to do with the matter at hand. I just hope I can answer the questions for him.
I can even predict, given my propensity for order, when he'll have trouble. Yesterday, for example, Andrew had to go to the doctor. It turns out Andrew has strep throat, which can be treated with antibiotics. So after taking Andrew to the doctor, Malkhos dropped off Andrew's prescription at the pharmacy, dropped Andrew off at home, and then went back to pick up the medicine. Malkhos was gone a long time.
"Where's Dad?" Andrew asked anxiously. He wanted to get started on his medicine because he knows it will help him get better.
"Oh, hung up at Walgreens," I said. "He'll be back soon."
"It's taking too long!" Andrew said. "They said it would only take ten minutes."
"For a normal person," I said. "I'm sure I know what the problem is."
"What?" Andrew asked.
"The pharmacist is going to ask your father, as a means of identifying that they are giving the medicine to the right person--you--when your birthday is. Possibly they'll ask him for our phone number. Those two questions will overwhelm him."
"He doesn't know my birthday? He doesn't know our phone number?" Andrew asked, amazed.
"Probably not offhand," I said.
And I was right. When Malkhos finally got back, I asked what took so long. He informed me that the first pharmacy was out of Zithromax, so he had to go to another pharmacy that did have it.
"Oh," I said. "Well, then, I apologize. I thought you'd gotten hung up because you couldn't remember Andrew's birthday."
"They did vex me about that," Malkhos replied. "At both places. That's so unreasonable."
So I was right. "Unreasonable that you should know your own son's birthday?"
He hesitated before he asked me the next question although I already knew what it was. "What year was he born?" he said.
"You don't know?" I said, unable to resist and enjoying his discomfort.
"No, I don't!"
"He was born on June 7, 2003," I said, really wanting to ask him what day of the week that occurred on as well as what time Andrew was born, two things I'd know instantly but Malkhos couldn't answer if his life depended on it.
"2003?" Malkhos asked. "Was that the year?"
"Yes," I confirmed.
"Well, I got the date right. I told them he was going to be seven," he said. "That should have been enough for them."
This has nothing to do with the ability to do simple math. I'm sure Malkhos wasn't even clear what year we're in now. Maybe I should call Walgreens and instruct the pharmacy to not ask questions like that. Rather, when they see Malkhos coming, they should ask, "Is the fact that IIIEnoch is written in High Church Slovonic prima facia evidence that it's a forgery?" He'd answer that right away, without thinking.
But Andrew got his medicine in the end, and I made my peace with this years ago. I knew then that this was something that could either irritate me eternally or endear me, so I chose latter. I chuckle every time I do the dishes in the morning that Malkhos thought he'd done.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-02 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-02 01:35 pm (UTC)