conversations in dreamland

Everyday, David becomes more like a real person as his conversational vocabulary expands. He'll reflect on past events, respond, empathize, chew the fat. But it is often like holding a conversation with a schizophrenic in dreamland. He has no concept of time. Ask him what he did today and he'll tell you what he did last week in great detail. He told someone at church that he was going to McDonald's to have chicken nuggets, fries, and chocolate milk. In fact, that is what he had done the day before with Auntie Skylar. At random times, he'll blurt out some little fact or bit of conversation that he picked up in the last two or three days.

And when he not confused about reality, he is fabricating it from whole cloth. His imaginary world grows in depth and detail every day. I asked him to hand me something earlier this week and he simply handed me the pretend version, pantomiming the act. Last month, he was riding his tricycle when dad called. Jaime stepped out to tell David that grandpa Brice was on the phone and wanted to talk to him. Without missing a stroke, David took one hand off of the handlebars and put it to the side of his head with the pinky extended towards his mouth and the thumb towards his ear, "hello." He rode on past the apartment carrying on a conversation with his grandpa, who was waiting patiently on the phone.

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