Monday, September 7, 2015

Christopher's bedroom

Garry entered the room around seven o'clock, and he walked over to his son's bed. He knelt down to rock his son's shoulder to rouse him.

Christopher murmured, slowly waking from a deep sleep.

Garry whispered in his son's ear, "Chris, wake-up. It's time to get up, son,"

Christopher crankily murmured, taking his thumb from his mouth, but now not wanting to wake up at all.

Garry stood up and said, "Chris, you've got to get ready for school,"

Christopher crankily answered, "I don't wanna go, Daddy,"

Garry's patience started to wane. He answered, "Christopher, get up, at least for a catheter and a diaper change,"

"OK," Christopher answered.

"You can tell me why you don't want to go to school, while I Cath you," Garry said, then pulled back the covers on his son's bed.

Christopher rolled onto his back.

"Bum up kiddo," Garry said softly.

Christopher grunted softly and lifted his bum off the bed using his legs.

Garry removed his son's pyjama bottoms, then he went to get a fresh diaper from the plastic package. While he was getting a diaper he asked his son, "Why don't you want to go to school, Chris? You were so excited yesturday,"

Christopher removed his thumb from his mouth again, "They made fun of me, last year," he said sulkily.

Garry put up his finger and said, "I'll be back in a minute son," then he went to the bathroom to wash his hands. He returned a few moments later, and he took a wet-wipe from the plastic can they came in. Garry asked, "Why did they make fun of you?"

"The Big Kids think it's funny that I wear diapers!" Christopher pouted, as he pounded lightly on the bed.

Garry came over, and he opened the diaper Christopher was wearing. The inside was quite damp to the touch, since it was put on almost ten hours ago. Garry catheterized his son, while he asked, "What about your class buddies last year?"

"They couldn't help me," Christopher said.

Urine started to flow through the catheter into the beaker.

"Uh-huh. What about Jeremy? Two kids saying the same things might be helped," Garry suggested.

Christopher came close to tears when he said, "They didn't listen to us, Daddy!"

"What!? What do you mean?" Garry asked, incredulously.

"I dunno, but they didn't," Christopher said, crying softly.

"Hey, Chris, maybe it'll be better this year," Garry said encouragingly.

"I hope so," Christopher said, sniffling loudly and trying to calm down.

Garry noticed the slowdown in the catheter, "Hey, Chris, things are slowing down here. Why don't you try some breathing to get things going again, get as much here, and less might end up in your diapers sometime today?"

Christopher tried it and it worked.

"Hey, it's just streaming out ya' now, kiddo!" Garry said.

Christopher smiled sadly.

After Christopher's catheter and changing, Garry helped Christopher put his school uniform on.

Christopher's uniform was made up of grey pants, a white shirt, and black Oxfords.

Christopher and his dad went down stairs to have breakfast.

Margo smiled at Christopher as he came to the breakfast table in the back of the house, "Have a good sleep, Chris?"

Christopher grinned and nodded, "I was flying in my dream!"

Margo smiled and gave Christopher a quick cuddle, "That's good,"

Christopher had cereal with milk and a glass of juice, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take his morning dose of pills.

While Christopher waited for the bus, Margo pinned an envelope, addressed to "Christopher's teacher" to his shirt.

This letter explained Christopher's medical problems, to protect Christopher from any problems that could arise from the potentially more embarrassing parts of his disability, it also told the teacher what she needed to know about Christopher's "daily routines."

Shortly after, the bus came.

Christopher and Jeremy got on the bus together.

"Go to your normal places, boys," Joe, the bus driver said.

Christopher sighed and grumbled, heading down the aisle.

Joe ignored Christopher's surliness.

Jeremy followed his friend down to a seat half way down the length of the bus.

Christopher got on to a seat, and slid across it to the window, Jeremy sat down beside him.

"Well, Chris, here we go again," Jeremy said, "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to school we go," Jeremy sang cheerfully, to the tune of "Hi, Ho" from the Disney movie "Snow White and The Seven Dwarves."

Christopher giggled at Jeremy's silliness, "Yeah, I wonder if we get Mrs. Barryson again," he wondered aloud, grinning

"I dunno, but I hope so," Jeremy said, grinning back.

Christopher nodded in agreement, "She was nice,"

Jeremy smiled at his friend, cheering, "We're gonna be big kids now!"

"Yeah!" Christopher cheered.

Jeremy soon started singing "The Wheels on The Bus," almost at the top of his lungs.

Christopher soon joined in, singing in unison.

The two friends spent the rest of the trip playing game after game of "I Spy . . . ," using things that the bus passed, on the way to school, as objects of interest.

The older kids, who had caused Christopher so much trouble the year before left him and Jeremy alone, ignoring them completely, instead they got caught up with what their friends had done over the summer break.

The school that Christopher and Jeremy went to was called Bayview Private School. It consisted of two school buildings. One was actually a series of joined portable classrooms, connected by an enclosed wooden platform. The other was made of brick. Christopher and Jeremy's class was in one of the joined portables. In front of these two buildings, there was the schoolyard. One structure covered most of the schoolyards' area. This was an area, bounded by cut logs. The logs were organized in such a way that it looked like the bow and stern of a ship. The "deck" of the "ship" was covered in dirt. The school's flag pole, flying the Canadian Maple Leaf, was in the middle.

The bus stopped in the school yard, and children started unfastening their seat belts

Jeremy and Christopher scrambled off the bus, and went looking for old classmates to put together a game of tag. The game went on till the kids were called into class.

Mrs. Mathison's classroom, in Portable #4, Bayview Private School

Inside the portable, the classroom was brightly coloured, with orange panelling on the walls. There were several wooden hexagonal tables, painted white with child-sized matching wooden chairs on each side. The children sat around these tables to do their work. In the middle of the floor there was a rug, made up of many shades of black, red, orange, yellow and off-white. There were shelves with toys along one wall, under windows that looked out on the playground, but orange drapes were drawn across the windows.

Mrs. Martha Jane Mathison was Christopher and Jeremy's new teacher. She wore a blue floral-pattern summer dress. She had shoulder-length brown hair, which curled up near the ends, greyish-green eyes, and a warm smile.

"Hello, little-boy, what's your name?" Mrs. Mathison asked Christopher, as she knelt down on one knee in front of him.

Christopher smiled shyly, glancing at Mrs. Mathison nervously, "My name is Christopher Henison. What's your name, ma'am?" Christopher said.

"My name, Christopher, is Mrs. Mathison," Mrs. Mathison said, with a smile, in recognition of Christopher's polite form of an address to an adult stranger. She looked at Jeremy "What's your name, little-one?" She asked.

"Jeremy Mathers, ma'am," Jeremy said.

Mrs. Mathison smiled at Jeremy, "Are you two friends already?" Mrs. Mathison asked, sounding almost surprised.

Jeremy and Christopher nodded emphatically.

"We've been friends since we were really little," Christopher exclaimed.

Jeremy nodded in agreement, "Uh-huh,"

"That's nice to hear," Mrs. Mathison said gently. Mrs. Mathison noticed the envelope pinned to Christopher's shirt. "Why, Chris, a letter for me already?" Mrs. Mathison said cheerfully.

"Yes, Mrs. Mathison," Christopher said, a big smile on his face. He figured that he and his new teacher would get along just fine.

Mrs. Mathison unpinned the envelope. She opened it, took the folded piece of paper she found inside, and started to read the letter. Mrs. Mathison sighed, thinking, "Christopher is not toilet-trained, and he's five? His accidents are going to cause major disruptions to the class. I can't let him. Could it be that he is just lazy?" Mrs. Mathison took a deep breath, "OK, boys, go sit with the other children, please," Mrs. Mathison said.

Christopher and Jeremy sat down at two adjacent spots at one of the tables.

Mrs. Mathison said, "First of all. Who knows how we make a circle?"

A little Asian boy named Michael Yao, among other children, sprang up, waving his right hand in the air, excitedly saying, "I do!"

"OK, Michael, how do we make a circle?" Mrs. Mathison asked.

Michael quickly described his group-circle-making ability.

"Very good, Michael, or do you like Mike better?" Mrs. Mathison said.

Michael smiled with a shrug, "Mike's OK," he said.

The rest of the class followed his directions in this matter, after clearance from Mrs. Mathison. Then the introductions started.

"Who would like to talk about themselves first? Remember, tell us your name," Mrs. Mathison said.

"I will," Jeremy said.

"Oh, alright," Mrs. Mathison said.

Jeremy told the class his full name, his age, and then he talked about himself generally. He talked about his parents, and then about his friend Christopher.

"Well, who wants to go next?" Mrs. Mathison asked.

"I will! I will!" Christopher said, leaping up from his place in the circle, waving his right hand in the air.

"Uh, no, I think we'll go around the circle the other way, Gregory?" Mrs. Mathison said.

Gregory was a little boy sitting on the other side of Jeremy.

Christopher sighed, none too quietly.

"You'll be last, Chris, OK?" Mrs. Mathison said, thinking, I've got something special for you!

"Oh, OK," Christopher said quietly. Christopher took a deep breath, as he sat back down, crossed his legs, and looked at Jeremy as if expecting an explanation.

Jeremy shrugged, as confused as Christopher was about what was occurring in their new class.

The other children in the class each took their turn talking about themselves. Then it was Christopher's turn.

"Christopher, why don't you stand up to talk about yourself?" Mrs. Mathison asked.

"Oh . . . OK," Christopher said uncertainly as he stood up.

Mrs. Mathison walked over to stand behind him.

"My name is Christopher Michael Henison. I'm five years old. I live with my Mommy and Daddy at home, and we live next door to Jeremy," Christopher said proudly.

Jeremy grinned up at his friend.

"What are those things on your legs?" A little boy asked.

"They're called braces, they help me walk," Christopher said.

"Are you crippled?" He asked.

"What's your disability called?" A little girl named Jennifer asked.

Jennifer Anne Jenkins had long straight brown hair that flowed down her back, to a point just below her shoulders. Jennifer's hair framed a somewhat elongated face which had a small "button"-nose, and green eyes peering out of it. She wore a white blouse and a short gray pleated wool skirt, gray stockings and shiny black shoes, the school's uniform for girls. Jennifer was a thin, but long boned child. She was five and three-quarter-years-old. She was the oldest child in the class since she had been at Bayview Private School for a year before Christopher, Jeremy and most of the other children in the class started, but she was held back for a year by serious short-term medical difficulties of her own, so she had ended-up back in Junior Kindergarten, then with Christopher and Jeremy, and other children their age.

"It's called spina bifida," Christopher said.

"Oh, yeah! OK," Jennifer said softly, nodding her understanding. Jennifer's mother was Christopher's physical and occupational therapist, in fact, her mother had suggested Bayview Private School to Christopher's parents. Neither Christopher nor Jennifer had any knowledge of that of course.

"Does anyone smell something funny?" Mrs. Mathison asked the class, seemingly ignoring the interaction between the two children.

"Yes," said a boy named Brian, who was starting to giggle, "it smells like peepee,"

Brian Bryce Stanton was a short bulky boy of four-and-three-quarters. He had short black hair, with bangs which hung over mischievously bright green eyes, which twinkled with the fun-making that he had almost forgotten from the year before.

"Ok!" Mrs. Mathison said gravely, "who forgot to tell me they needed to go to the bathroom!?"

The children looked around at each other, looking for a wet spot on someone's clothes, or even a puddle on the floor.

"I dunno who, but somebody peed-their-pants," Brian said, continuing to laugh. Brian felt he had a good idea where the smell was coming from, and he thought it was funny that an older boy, even though Christopher was barely three months older, wasn't even toilet-trained when he was awake. Brian had gone to the nurses office the year before, before the rest period to put on disposable underpants for bed-wetters, since he'd still had trouble with controlling his bladder when he was asleep at the time. He no longer wet his pants during nap time, but he knew Christopher's secret, since Christopher also went to the nurse before rest-period to have his diaper changed.

"Well, Christopher, would you like to tell the class about the letter you gave me? If you don't tell them I will," Mrs. Mathison said.

"Oh why do I have to tell?" Christopher whined, squirming where he stood.

"Because you still wet and mess yourself, don't you," Mrs. Mathison asked.

"Uh-huh," Christopher said softly, nodding absentmindedly, not wanting to push the matter.

Brian snickered, covering his mouth, while the rest of the class looked genuinely surprised by this news.

Christopher turned on Brian, sourly snapping, "Shut-up!"

Mrs. Mathison glowered at Christopher's behaviour, crossly snapping, "Christopher! Watch your language! Would you like me to tell these other nice children, who will have to smell you all the time, why you pee your pants?" Mrs. Mathison said.

"What about his stinky-poo-pants too?" Brian asked almost laughing

Some of the boys in the class started snickering, since the surprise had worn off.

"Do you know?" Christopher asked, turning back to Mrs. Mathison, not quite understanding.

"Why, Chris, that is what the letter you gave me is about!" Mrs. Mathison said sharply.

"Oh, OK," Christopher said softly, almost mumbling. Christopher had never really concerned himself with the contents of the letter he had to give his teacher on the first day of school.

"Well, Christopher still doesn't use a toilet, like the rest of you," Mrs. Mathison said.

Christopher glanced at his new teacher warily, since that statement was more-or-less true.

Brian nodded.

"He doesn't want to use one. His mommy and daddy tried to get him potty-trained, but he didn't want to be," Mrs. Mathison said, as she pulled his pants down. "So he still wears diapers, see?"

Christopher's jaw dropped in shock, since he instinctively knew his parent's hadn't tried to toilet-train him, since it would have been a miserably lost cause, though he didn't think of it in exactly those terms.

"Is that true . . . Pisstopher?" Brian tittered, as he was pointing at Christopher.

Christopher covered his face in shame, "Th-Th-that's not true!" Christopher said sadly.

"Well, isn't it? Well then, you tell the class why you're a smelly little boy, and why you still wear diapers, like a baby!" Mrs. Mathison said disgustedly.

"I. . . don't . . . really . . . want . . . to," Christopher said.

"Why not!?" Mrs. Mathison snapped.

Christopher jumped, blubbering softly, "'Cause I don't want to talk about it!"

Jeremy raised his eyebrows, "Mrs. Mathison, Chris doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't want people to make fun of him. They did last year, but he doesn't want that this year. Now, please pull his pants up!"

"Who made fun of him?" Mrs Mathison asked.

"The big kids, on the bus and in the playground," Jeremy said, turning to Brian, with an accusatory tone in his voice, "he did too . . . "

"But they're not here. If he doesn't talk about it with these children, then these children will make fun of him as well," Mrs. Mathison said, "Won't you?" she looked around at the other children.

"Brian does!" Christopher wailed, making sure his friend's last comment registered.

Some of the other boys in the class nodded with big grins, wondering at the fun they could have at Christopher's expense.

"Please pull my pants up!" Christopher howled.

"Mrs. Barryson didn't let the other kids make fun of him," Jeremy said.

"But, I am not Mrs. Barryson!" Mrs. Mathison snapped.

"OK! OK! Don't get mad!" Christopher said, practically in tears, "I smell, cause I can't hold my pee. I can't even hold my poops. So, I-I-I have to wear d-d-diapers," Christopher started to sob, his voice a miserable squeak, "W-w-why did I have to say this?"

"Because you're a bad little boy. This is what happens to bad little boys in my class," Mrs. Mathison growled.

"It hurts to talk about this stuff," Christopher sobbed.

"Well then, why don't you do anything about it if it hurts so much to be that way?" Mrs. Mathison said coldly.

"I can't!" Christopher screamed.

"Most children your age, use the toilet, Chris. Why don't you?" Mrs. Mathison asked.

"I do. I empty my pee bottle into it, and if I've pooped, I dump that out of my diaper into the toilet too," Christopher sobbed, staring at the floor.

Some of the children giggled softly, each holding a hand cupped over their mouths.

"But you don't hold your pee and poops like most little-boys, even your best friend Jeremy does," Mrs. Mathison said, "doesn't he?"

Jeremy reddened at the context he was referred to in, but nodded vigorously.

"Not 'don't', 'can't'," Christopher sobbed.

"Why can't you, then?" Mrs. Mathison asked, a sarcastic, disbelieving tone to her voice.

"C-c-cause messages don't get to my middle. That's where pee and poops are kept. If you need to go pee, you can hold it, and go when you're on a toilet. But I can't control which messages are sent to my middle, so I have accidents," Christopher sobbed angrily.

The giggles quickly stopped as the children got an inkling how serious the situation was.

"See, Christopher, you told them," Mrs. Mathison said with surprising gentleness, "They aren't even laughing at you anymore� Which is really too bad�-"

"But I didn't want to!" Christopher howled softly, looking up at Mrs. Mathison.

"Can't you, please, leave him alone!?" Jeremy sighed pleadingly, his face returning to its normal colour.

"Why don't you two just do as you're told!?" Mrs. Mathison snapped.

Jeremy looked at Christopher, whose head was bent down in shame, saying, "What did we do?"

"You are the friend of a bad little boy, Jeremiah Mathers!" Mrs. Mathison said.

"What did he do?" Jeremy asked sadly.

"Apparently, he wet himself on the bus, or soon after entering this classroom. He reeks!-Shame on you! Shame!" Mrs. Mathison said, as she stared down at Christopher's diaper. She looked at the other children, saying warmly, "Now, class, why don't you show me how good you are at your alphabet? Even these two brats should be able to do that," Mrs. Mathison said, as she roughly pulled Christopher's pants back up.

The children went back to the seats they had chosen for themselves. Christopher's joined Jeremy at a table. Mrs. Mathison then handed out the paper and pencils, and let the children set down to do their work. Giving a child occasional assistance with their work if they seemed to slow down.

Christopher and Jeremy, like the other children, occasionally looked up on the walls at the letters that were pasted around the room.

It was ten thirty in the morning. Mrs. Mathison was busy helping another student in her class. She began to detect a certain smell in the air. She sniffed noticeably. "Christopher, do you need your diaper changed, like the little baby you are? " Mrs. Mathison said, from across the room.

Brian looked at Christopher and started snickering, covering his mouth.

Christopher tried to be calm, to be a respectful big boy, "Mrs. Mathison, please don't talk like that to me,"

"I can speak to you anyway I like young man. You need your diaper changed. You stink!" Mrs. Mathison said.

"Then don't tell me that, ever!"Christopher said sharply, losing the battle against his hurt feelings.

"Christopher, you stink, your stupid, and you still wear diapers. I bet you've both peed and pooped your pants, haven't you. You certainly smell that way. Go get changed," she snapped. She handed him his back pack saying, as if talking to a much younger child, "Here's your diaper bag, baby,"

"Don't be so mean to me!" Christopher said.

"Go to the nurses office, now!" Mrs. Mathison said, her tone much different.

"I hate you!" Christopher yelled.

"Get lost before I hurt you, now go!" Mrs. Mathison said.

Some of the other children looked at Mrs. Mathison with shock.

Christopher stopped outside the classroom door to get his backpack on his back. As he did so he fought back his tears, which had stopped during his alphabet-practise.

Chris, he thought to himself, you're a big kid now, Mommy says you'll be in Grade 1 next year. No need to cry over what your new teacher said. She doesn't understand yet.

Soon after he got underway again, Christopher's feelings got the better of him. As Christopher ran over to the nurse's office in the main school building, he was crying. He almost stumbled a couple of times on the uneven cement, since he was covering his face in shame. But he stopped outside the nurses office to try and stop his tears. He guessed his upset would be tricky to explain, since he was feeling ashamed about what his behaviour seemed to be causing in his new class.

The Nurses Office, Bayview Private School Main Building

The nurse, Mrs. Abbot, was a cheerfully plump woman, in early middle-age, with short black hair, and blue-green eyes. She wore a light sweater and a dark blue longish skirt, matching long stockings, and comfortable dark brown walking shoes.

She heard a knocking at the door, and went to open it, "Oh, Hello Chris. Come to have your stuff done? Your mother called and said that, over the summer, you learned to do most of it yourself. Why don't I let you, then? I'll stay to give you any help you might still need, but that's what your mother said,"

Christopher went over to the sink attached to the wall to the right of the door and washed his hands. Christopher hauled his pants down, then hoisted himself up onto the table in one corner of the room they were in, just off the nurse's office.

Mrs Abbot smiled, "Good for you Christopher, get your diaper open, please . . . "

Christopher made little noise open his diaper. "Ugh!" Christopher grunted, having stuck his fingers into the little surprise waiting on his backside.

"What is it?" The nurse asked.

Christopher showed her his hand, with brown marks on his finger tips, "Help," Christopher moaned.

The nurse got up from the toilet seat, where she had been sitting, waiting to see if he needed any assistance, "You had an accident back there, I see," she said.

"Yeah," Christopher said, his face reddening, as he thought to himself, "Rats! Mrs. Mathison was probably right, when she said that stuff! Though I wish she was nicer 'bout it . . . "

The nurse took a wet-wipe out of the plastic can they came in. and gave it to Christopher, saying, "That's OK Chris, use this to clean off your fingers,"

Christopher took it and did so, saying, "Thank you,"

"You're welcome. Now would you please roll onto your side so I can clean you up," the nurse said.

"Oh, OK," Christopher said. Christopher rolled onto his right side.

The nurse cleaned Christopher up.

Christopher catheterized himself, peeing into the beaker he brought to school with him.

Then the nurse helped him change into a clean diaper, and get himself dressed again.

Christopher walked back to the class in silence.

Mrs. Mathison's classroom

Mrs Mathison smiled, "Welcome back, Chris . . . , finish your alphabet work, like the good boy you really are . . . "

Christopher smiled uncertainly, and returned to his Alphabet Practise.

Mrs. Mathison called the class into a circle again for story time. Mrs. Mathison read the story of Little Red Riding Hood.

Then it was lunch time.

"Chris," Brian asked, "what sort of sandwich do you have in your lunch? Is it a poop sandwich? Then, for that you'd just have to stick your hand down the seat of your pants," Brian was roaring with laughter at his little joke, along with the other boys at his table, next to the one that Jeremy and Christopher sat at.

"Now, Brian, behave yourself," Mrs. Mathison said softly.

Christopher smiled uncertainly, saying, "Brian, do you pee your pants at nap time still?"

Brian momentarily turned beet red, "No!"

"Then stop pickin' on me!" Christopher exclaimed miserably.

Mrs. Mathison frowned at Christopher.

"Bet he does, want to check his bag for GoodNites?" Jeremy asked.

Christopher giggled, "Thanks Jerry," he said.

"Eat up, buds," Jeremy said, giving Chris a pat on the back.

Jeremy and Christopher finished in silence.

Mrs. Mathison got back into the act right after Christopher and Jeremy finished eating, "Well, it's rest time. But before you lie down for your naps, you should use the bathroom," Mrs. Mathison said. Mrs. Mathison was shifting her gaze to Christopher as she spoke, her voice rising, "and you should get your diaper changed! Again! Off with you!"

Christopher looked at Brian sadly, "Coming Brian?"

"I don't wear diapers, Baby!", Brian snickered.

"Good!" Christopher sniffled, "cuz you're a jerk!"

"Christopher!", Mrs. Mathison roared, "Go!"

Jennifer stared in amazement at Mrs. Mathison's near-repeat performance. Her mother had told her about children like Christopher.

Christopher went back to the nurses office. This time he was able to maintain his composure. But that didn't hold up on his return trip.

He stopped outside the door to his classroom, rested his forehead against the wall. He started to sob. Hot salty tears rolled down his cheeks, "M-m-mommy . . . ," he blubbered softly. Then he grabbed a lock of hair on his forehead and started to twist and pull it savagely. It didn't help his mood, pulling his own hair, but it allowed him to get out some of the anger he was beginning to feel toward some of the students and the teacher in his new class, kicking the wall helped as well.

Mrs. Mathison heard him. She came out and grabbed the back of his shirt. She dragged him into the class, "What were you doing just now Christopher? Tell me!" Mrs. Mathison snapped fiercely, keeping her voice down, because some children had already drifted off.

"Getting mad, so I don't hurt anybody I like," Christopher blubbered.

"Well, it's time for your nap, young man," Mrs. Mathison said.

Christopher did as he was told, laying down on one of the rectangular foam mats, one that Jeremy had saved for him. He awoke with the other children, about 90 minutes to two hours later. But, his pants were nowhere to be found. Christopher certainly wasn't wearing them.

"Where are my pants!?" Christopher shrieked, almost panicking.

"I want the older children to see that they were right last year. You are a big baby!" Mrs. Mathison snapped, "So I took them off in your sleep!"

Some of the other children pointed at him and laughed.

Others, Jennifer and Jeremy included, were too shocked by what was happening in their new class to react at all.

"Where did you put them!?" Christopher sobbed.

"In your bag, you little Wretch!" Mrs. Mathison said. Then Mrs. Mathison turned to the other children, and her voice changed dramatically. "Now class, if you get lined up nicely you can go out to play. Christopher is going to stay in class today," she as she gave the boy a sharp, disapproving look."You don't want to get made fun of out in the play ground, now do you?" Mrs. Mathison snapped.

Christopher practically lost his temper, his voice quivering softly, "Get my pants!"

"Christopher! Control your temper, young man," Mrs. Mathison warned.

The other children formed a more-or-less straight line, with a surprising minimum of pushing and shoving, and Mrs. Mathison let them, including Jeremy, go in a moment.

Christopher completely lost his temper in a flash. "How could you!?" he screamed. He stamped his feet and charged his teacher.

Mrs. Mathison grabbed Christopher and quickly pushed him to the floor, "You listen to me, you little brat!"

Christopher whimpered softly with fear.

"Shut up, you worthless little twerp! If you don't, I'll give you a reason to cry!"

Christopher sobbed openly.

Mrs. Mathison continued spewing profanity at Christopher, when she was finished, she grabbed his upper arm, and roughly brought him to his feet, "I said shut up brat,"

Christopher covered his face in shame, "Why?"

She snapped at him, as she held his chin in a tight grasp, "Because I said so! Now, will you be a good boy!? You will stop making this room stink! Won't you!?"

Christopher sobbed uncontrollably, "Why, Mrs. Mathison? I can't help it!"

Mrs. Mathison decided to give up for the day, realizing she didn't want to use physical force yet, so she went to get his backpack. "Because I said so! Now get lost, and don't tell anybody what happened today, you hear!?" Mrs. Mathison said sternly, as she threw his backpack at him.

Christopher was almost knocked over as it slammed squarely into his chest.

She pointed toward the door, snapping loudly, "Get out of here you little Stinker!"

Christopher bent-down and grabbed his back pack by it's carrying-handle, picked it up, and put it on his shoulder, keeping his eye's averted, completely uncomprehending. Then he ran out of the class as quickly as he could.

Bayview Private School schoolyard

Some of the boys from Christopher's class, led by Brian, seemed to be waiting for him out in the school yard. They were ready for him. The boys called, "Hey, big-baby, did you peepee in your pants today? Did you do a do-do in your diaper?" Then they pointed at him and roared with laughter.

Christopher crumbled to his knees. He held his head in his hands. When he spoke, his voice cracked, as he cried, "Mama! Mommy, please help me! I am so sorry!"

The other boys stood around and laughed as they kicked dirt in Christopher's face. Then they grabbed his arms and dragged him into the middle of the playground. His knees scrapped on the pavement and he sobbed as he was dragged out into the middle of the schoolyard. They laid Christopher face down in the dirt.

Christopher pleaded to be left alone.

The boys started beating him with their feet. They kicked his sides, his head, his back and his feet. They stepped on his back, and his hands. Christopher was bawling now. They also called him names, "Cripple! Stinker! Baby! Suck! Twerp! Retard!"

"Owie! Stop it!" he screamed.

Christopher's teacher from Junior Kindergarten was named Donna Thelma Barryson. Mrs. Barryson had thinning boyishly-cut straight blond hair, which framed a round freckled face, from which normally warm green eyes peered out. Mrs. Barryson was the school yard monitor for the after-school program, which was customary for the first day of school, since she could help some of her young students deal with schoolyard problems. She never really thought she'd be coming to the aid of a child who had been in her class the previous year, but she recognized the shrieks of terror coming from within a commotion she saw in the middle of the "Ship."

Mrs. Barryson ran up to the group of boys, "Break it up! That's enough!" she yelled, in her unmistakably Australian accent.

They stopped kicking him and ran.

"Get back here!" Mrs. Barryson yelled after them.

They all ran off, knowing quite well how much trouble they could get into with Mrs. Barryson, since they, like Christopher and Jeremy, had been her students the year before.

Jeremy had been playing with other classmates, but noticed the commotion, and came running to see what was happening. Mrs. Barryson started asking him what he knew about what had happened to Christopher, but he didn't have much to say.

Mrs. Barryson looked down at Christopher's middle, "Chris, where are your pant's! No wonder these other children made fun of you!" Mrs. Barryson said, somewhat angrily.

Jeremy's jaw dropped at the sight of his longtime friend, still minus his gray pants. Jeremy had rarely seen Christopher with his diaper visible to all and sundry like he was right now, and normally it was a temporary state of undress.

"In my bag!" Christopher howled.

"Let's go, Bugalugs. I hope you'll feel better with your pants on, won't you?" Mrs. Barryson said tenderly, as she led Christopher to the washroom where the nurse did Christopher's bladder routine.

Christopher nodded, and smiled sadly, remembering Mrs Barryson using that peculiarly Australian term-of-endearment with the kids in her Junior kindergarten class the previous year, when they were feeling down.

When they got to the washroom, Mrs. Barryson watched Christopher get himself together, without assistance (an ability Christopher had gained over the summer). "Christopher, why were those boys beating you up like that!? It's horrible!" Mrs. Barryson said.

Christopher responded, pleadingly, "I-I can't tell! I shouldn't say!"

Mrs. Barryson held him by his shoulders, "Christopher," she asked, "Why shouldn't you tell me?"

Christopher held his head in his hands and shook it as he sobbed, "She told me not to tell. My new teacher, named Mrs. Mathison, was being real mean to me. She was telling them lies 'bout why I wear diapers, and bein' real' mean about it," Christopher hung his head and cried.

Mrs. Barryson gave Christopher a cuddle as he sat on the edge of the table, and soon he was back to his normal, chipper self, pretty much. Mrs. Barryson walked over with him to where Jeremy was sitting on bottom step leading to the trailers.

"Jeremy, since you two are good mates, why don't you take Chris over and sit on the logs with him. Maybe he will tell you what happened with your new teacher," Mrs. Barryson said.

"I know already. I'm in his class again this year. She was mean to him all day!" Jeremy said, "she was mean to me too, sometimes," he looked to be on the verge of tears, as he thought about the things that had occurred earlier in the day.

Christopher went and sat on one of the logs which made up the "bow" of the "ship." He sat there thinking about life, until Jeremy came up to him.

"I'm really sorry I couldn't stop those guys," Jeremy said, "You feelin' alright? You look like you're about to start bawlin' again,"

"No, Just leave me alone," Christopher said, his head bowed in shame.

"Chris, I still like you. Why don't you want to talk to me anymore?" Jeremy asked, a little surprised and unhappy.

"Jerry, I feel so bad. I've been so bad today. You don't want to be found talkin' to a bad boy, do ya'?" Christopher said, "She no tell the other kids why I wear diapers. She just made me cry about it,"

"Hey Buddy, I know she was lying. I'll tell, I will, promise," Jeremy said.

"Tell who? What?" Christopher asked, a small hint of a smile forming on his face.

"My mommy, I'll tell my mommy about this," Jeremy said,

Christopher's smile was returning. "Thanks, Jeremy," Christopher said.

Jeremy looked across the "ship," and saw the school bus. "Hey Chris, Joe's here," Jeremy said.

Mrs. Mathison's classroom

Donna Barryson knocked on the door to Martha Mathison's Senior Kindergarten class.

"Come in!", Martha Mathison called from inside.

Donna opened the door, and entered softly.

"Ah, Donna! What can I do for you!?" Martha Mathison asked cheerfully.

Donna cleared her throat, "Um, there was a little bit of a barney in the schoolyard just a little while ago, with one of your kids," she said, using slang from her native Australia, to refer to the fight she had broken up a short while ago.

Martha looked concerned, "Oh?"

"He was in a rather embarrassing position as well," Donna said, then she slowed down considerably, saying, "Now, you can discipline children, in your class, any way you see fit, but don't do things like that publicly,"

"Such as?" Martha asked.

"Making children go out to play in the schoolyard with their pants' off!?" Donna replied.

"Oh, Christopher wanted to do that," Martha said dismissively.

Donna shook her head, saying, "He said you took his pants off him in his sleep, during nap-time. Don't do that again," then she started to leave the room.

Martha sighed, and tried a different tack, "You think it's appropriate for a child his age not to be toilet-trained?"

Donna stopped, looked back at the younger teacher and shrugged, "If there are medical reasons�,"

Martha looked at Donna in surprise, "You saw the letter his mother sends with him? ... The one that's addressed to his teacher, and describes his disability?" Martha said, with disbelieving sarcasm.

Donna nodded, saying, "Yes, I got one when I was his Junior Kindergarten teacher, last year,"

"You believed it?" Martha asked, in disbelief.

Donna shrugged, "How could I not believe it? I don't know enough about these things-and frankly, I'm sure, neither do you,"

"He's a little old though, for that kind of behaviour," Martha said.

Donna sighed, "His mother knows his medical needs better than we do, so I wouldn't want to second-guess her on this kind of thing,"

Martha shrugged, "You'll learn, Donna, some parents just don't want their kids to grow-up�"

"It's medical, in this case, not a conscious behaviour," Donna said slowly and softly, trying to maintain her cool as the more senior teacher.

Bayview School Bus

Christopher got on the bus and sat in his usual spot. The other kids got onto the bus and sat around him. Once the bus was underway, the trouble started. An older boy leaned across the aisle of the school bus to talk to Christopher.

"Hey, big-baby," said an older boy menacingly, "we remember you. We can hurt you a lot here. Joe won't stop us. We can do what we want here," said the older boy sitting across the aisle from Christopher.

Christopher moved away from the boy as far as he could. He covered his face. The older boy moved across the aisle to sit next to him.

"Hey, you don't want to have any fun?" The older boy asked.

Christopher cowered in the corner of the seat. Christopher shook his head, "Not your fun," he answered.

"That, is the only fun you can have," said the older boy. He elbowed Christopher in the stomach.

Christopher whimpered. But he didn't dare ask the bus driver for help. That would only get one of the bullies hauled to the front of the bus. The rest of the kids would beat him up severely, "Stop it, please!", he pleaded.

The older boy started to punch even harder. Christopher started to sob. He was punched in the stomach, in the middle, in the face. His hair was pulled. He was pushed to the floor. When he was on the floor, he was on his hands and knees. The older boy raised his foot and brought it down on Christopher's rear. Christopher's head hit the floor of the bus.

"We've got some unfinished business to do," said the older boy. He stomped on Christopher's back, his head, his rear, and his legs.

Christopher was sobbing so heavily that he couldn't inhale enough air to call for help if he wanted to. The other boy was cheered on by his friends. A girl who was also in Christopher's class pleaded with the boy to stop what he was doing. They did not listen to her.

Some of the boys started chanting "Get him! Get him!"

Christopher was petrified.

This was when Joe finally figured that something was wrong near the back of the bus. He quickly pulled the bus over to the side of the road. The chanting, cheering and kicking stopped.

Joe came back to where they were seated. He helped Christopher back onto the seat. On his way back to the back of the bus he had seen the older boy moving back to where he had sat earlier. He ordered that boy to the front of the bus.

He would spend the rest of his trip home sitting on the floor of the bus, facing the other kids. This was so that the bus driver could keep an eye on him.

Nothing would be said to the parents of this boy. This was because he went in on his own when he was dropped off. Christopher, if he misbehaved on the bus, wasn't so lucky.

The other kids made rude faces at him. They persisted in calling him names. They asked him personal questions in a very mean tone. They did not leave him alone in the least.

Christopher curled up on the corner, covered his face and cried. This continued until he got home. It also ensured that when his mother came out to meet the bus, Christopher would be a wreck.

Mrs. Mathison's Home

Martha Mathison drove home in her ancient battered Coupe to her boyfriend of five months, Jack Bradley Fredricks.

"Hey babes, got any nice pieces in your class?" Jack asked, referring saucily to the children in her class.

Martha sighed, trying to keep her voice level, she knew Jack was drunk, again, "Jack, they're not going to be part of your vid's,"

Jack raised an eyebrow, "Who says, " Jack asked, sounding vaguely menacing.

Martha backed away, speaking cautiously, "Jack, I can't . . . "

"Male or female, it doesn't matter, Martha . . . ," Jack said evenly, shrugging his shoulders.

"But Jack, they're children!" Martha said, trying to control her voice.

Jack shrugged, and said, "Children are surprisingly sexual . . . , didn't you ever play 'Doctor'?"

"Jack, your vid's involve sadism . . . ," Martha rasped.

Jack shrugged again, saying, "Some kiddies are awfully physical when they play Doctor,"

Outside the Henison Home

When Christopher finally got home, Joe carried him off the bus to his mother's arms.

When she saw him, she was shocked. Her dear son was a mess, red-faced and on the verge of tears. She cradled him in her arms as she carried him inside.

She gently sat Christopher down on a chair in the kitchen. Her face had concern written all over it.

"Chrisy, what happened today?" Margo asked.

Christopher burst into tears, "Mommy! Oh, Mommy! It-It was h-h-horrible today," he sobbed. He took a deep breath, and continued bawling.

"Chris, what happened hon'? Tell me," she said.

"The kids beat me up today. First, in the playground, then on the bus!" Christopher howled.

"Oh, not again this year!" Margo said.

"Yeah, this year," Christopher said sadly, as he nodded his head.

"It's over Sweetie. Your going to be fine," Margo cooed, holding Christopher in her arms. "Chris, I think it's time you were cath'd again. Could you go to your room, please?" Margo said.

Christopher got off of his mother's lap, without mentioning the problems he had with his teacher, and he walked up stairs to his bedroom. His mother followed behind him. When he entered his room, he walked over to his bed and sat down on it.

Margo closed her son's bedroom door. "Chris, since you're a big boy, could help me with your cath?" Margo asked.

Christopher, with gentle encouragement at every step, helped his mother with his Catheterisation and changing his urine-soaked diaper.

"Good for you, Chris! You did most of it yourself, which is good," Margo said.

Christopher yawned.

Margo kneeled in front of him, "Chris, you look tired. Why don't you take your shoes off and have a little rest? Hmm?" Margo said.

Christopher whined, "I'm not tired, Mommy!" He yawned again.

Margo picked Christopher up in her arms and cradled him. She softly sang to him.

Christopher started to cry. "Mommy, No!" Christopher sobbed.

"Chris, what is it? No one will hurt you. You're safe now. It's all right dear," Margo said. Margo laid Christopher on his bed. She gently removed his Oxfords and braces. She pulled up the covers and tucked her son into bed. Margo gave Christopher a kiss on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Chris," Margo said.

Christopher rolled onto his side, started sucking his thumb, and soon fell asleep.

Margo disposed of her son's diaper in the diaper-pail in the closet, then went back to the home office in the back of the top floor of the house, over looking the backyard.

Christopher woke up an hour-and-a-half later, and sat up on the edge of his bed, and put his leg-braces and sneakers on. Christopher then walked around the top floor calling, "Mommy? Daddy?"

"In the office!" Margo called, from behind a closed door.

Christopher quietly entered his parent's upstairs office, "Mommy?"

Margo turned around, after saving her work, "Yes?"

Christopher smiled, having his mother's undivided attention, "What we having for supper?"

Margo grinned, "We're having spicy chicken!"

Christopher sighed, "How long!?"

Margo smiled, "It's cooking right now . . . "

Christopher rested his head on his mother's shoulder, whining, "But I'm hungry now!"

Margo sighed, "Want juice and a cookie?"

Christopher grinned, "Yeah!"

Margo raised an eyebrow in her son's direction, "Magic word?"

Christopher smiled sweetly, "Please, mommy?"

Margo smiled, "OK, honey . . ."

Christopher raised his eyebrows hopefully, "Is Franklin ready to watch?"

Margo nodded, "Yep . . . Go into the other room, and the show should start . . . "

Christopher grinned and scampered to the next room, cheering as the large flat screen that hung on the wall came to life, "Yea!"

Margo went down to the kitchen to get her son a glass of juice, and a cookie.

Christopher sang along to the theme song.

Margo came in carrying a glass of juice and a cookie, her son smiled up at her, expectantly, "What's the other magic word, Chris?"

"Thank you mommy!" Christopher said.

Margo placed the cookie and juice down on the low table in front of Christopher "You're welcome. . . How's the show?"

Christopher grinned as he turned back to the display, "Good, mommy,"

Margo smiled, turning to leave the room, "Enjoy . . . I'll be in the office if you need me,"

Christopher mumbled a reply around the cookie he had in his mouth.

The show ended a short while later, and Christopher's mood darkened, as he returned to his room. Christopher sat back down on his bed, his head in his hands. "At Sunday School, I hear that Jesus loves us all. But, if He loves me, why do I get made fun of? It's not fair. I also get told that God's fair. It doesn't make sense to me. Maybe God isn't everywhere. He's never at my school, or on my bus. No one seems to really like me either-place. Only at home am I really treated nice', is God is only at home?" Christopher said, and felt as if he was about to cry. It felt unfair to Christopher that God only existed for him at home. He needed God elsewhere, as well.

Christopher's face lightened when he heard Garry come home. He heard his parents talking in the kitchen, and went out into the upstairs hall to listen, and knelt on the floor by the top of the stairs, his age-appropriate self-centeredness told him his parents would be talking about him.

The Henison House, in the kitchen

"Margo, where's Chris?" Garry asked.

"Oh, I think he has gone back to his room. He's had a bad day," Margo said.

"Oh, What happened?" Garry asked.

"I think you'd better sit down, Garry," Margo said.

"Christopher was a wreck when he got home today," Margo said, then sighed, "This is going to sound horribly un-Christian to say, but I wonder if he should have been born. He's a dear little boy, and I love him, but he has so much trouble. He was beaten up today, twice, in the schoolyard, then on the bus. His life's so terrible, so full of pain and hurt, I just don't know," Margo said, then she started to cry.

"Hey, Margo!", Garry exclaimed with mild surprise and disgust, "You'd never have forgiven yourself if you'd had an abortion . . . "

Margo nodded, agreeing with Garry's words, Margo felt dirty at the mere thought of having ended her pregnancy when she was carrying Christopher, almost six years before.

Both Margo and Garry believed that God had intended them to have Christopher, with all his problems and special needs.

The Henison house, in the second-floor hallway

Hearing his mother's crying could suddenly upset Christopher like little else. A wave of sadness swept over him. He quickly stood up and ran down stairs to the kitchen. As he ran, the tears welled up in his eyes. He went to his mother, he buried his head in her lap and let out one long sob. After the initial release, he cried quietly.

"Hey, Chris, what is it? Did you hear me and your mother talking? Come here big guy," Garry pulled Christopher up onto his lap and gave Christopher a hug. "She didn't mean to upset you. She was upset because other kids were being so mean to you. We wish that wouldn't happen, but it does. They don't understand. Try not to listen to them," Garry said.

"Daddy," Christopher said, softly crying. "Mommy said I shouldn't have been born! Why!?"

"Chris, Oh, Chris, she didn't mean that!" Garry said. "She feels so bad whenever you come home in tears. She never wanted those bad things to happen to you, that's all. We are both so happy you're here. We love you very much," Garry said. He kissed his son on the head.

"Daddy, I don't want to go back to Bayview! I hate it there! The other kids are really mean!" Christopher cried, as he squirmed on his father's lap, not sure how his parents might feel about the things he was saying. Again, Christopher did not mention the trouble with his teacher.

Garry stroked his son's hair, holding his son warmly on his lap.

"Chris, I really think you're gonna have to stop listenin' to what the other kids say about you. I know it's hard not to hear what people are saying about you, but they don't understand. Now it's time for supper. It's your favourite Chris, manicotti!" said Margo, with a flourish.

Christopher brightened up considerably. He hoped off his father's lap, and ran to his place at the dinner table.

"Gee, Chris, you must be hungry," said Garry.

"Daddy! You know I love Manicotti!" Christopher said.

"I was kidding, kiddo, relax," Garry said.

"Sorry, couldn't tell," Christopher said, sighing.

Garry and Margo sat down at their places. "Chris, would you say grace please," said Margo.

"For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen," Chris said.

Then they all started to eat.

"So Marg, how was your day before Chris got home?" Garry asked.

"Oh, it was alright. I was able to finish-off the manual pages on the software installation for the game," Margo said, "I also got a call from one of the people on the development team, saying that they had made some minor changes to the installation chapter of the manual. It turns out that they have dropped a screen or two from the installation program. They want me to incorporate the changes into the documentation, what about your day, Garry?"

"Well, the game is almost finished. That's why some of the guys have split off to write the installation program," Garry said.

Margo and Garry continued to talk about work, while Christopher plowed through his food.

When supper was over it was almost eight in the evening. This was Christopher's bed time.

"Chris, it's time for bed, Son," Garry said.

"Aw, not yet!" Christopher said.

"Yes, Chris, let's go. You still have to do your cath. and changing. I'm sure you don't want to wear a dirty diaper to bed," said Garry.

"What about cath'ing? I don't need to be Cath'd," said Christopher. During supper, Christopher had felt a sudden release of mild pressure near his middle, then momentarily felt quite wet around his privates and between his legs.

"Chris, get moving. Start getting ready for bed," Garry said.

"Oh, alright!" Christopher said, exasperated.

"Listen, if you get ready really fast, I'll read you a bedtime story," said Garry.

"Call when you need help," Margo said.

Christopher went up stairs to the bathroom. There he brushed his teeth and took his pills. He went to his room and started to get ready for bed.

He took off his shirt and undershirt. He put on the tops of the pyjamas that lay on his bed. He went over to the package of diapers and got one out. He went back to his bed. He pulled his pants down. He looked down at his diaper. The whole pattern on the front of Christopher's diaper was faded almost to the point of being invisible. Christopher's bladder had emptied completely. Christopher was sopping wet. Christopher reached around and patted the seat of his diaper, feeling a bulge, "I'm dirty too!" Christopher said to himself, then he tilted his head back and hollered, "Daddy!"

Dining Room in the Henison Home

Margo and Garry were talking about business when they heard Christopher's call for help.

Garry cleared his throat, then looked out the dinning-room doorway and called back, "Be there in a sec Chris!"

Margo nodded her understanding.

"I'll be back soon, Margo," Garry said, getting up from his chair, "Why don't you make some instant coffee?"

Margo nodded, getting up, "OK, sounds good. We'll probably be up for a while with all these things that are coming up . . . "

Garry nodded and sighed his agreement, and headed up stairs.

Christopher's Bedroom

"Boy, I must have had to pee badly, when this happened," Christopher thought, looking down at his middle again.

Garry knocked on the door.

Christopher looked up, calling, "OK . . . "

Garry came in, asking his son, "Are you messy?"

Christopher nodded, "Uh-huh . . . "

"Well," Garry said, smiling reassuringly, "it's better then being plugged-up . . . "

Christopher rolled his eyes, sighing in mild exasperation.

Garry beckoned his son to stand.

Christopher stood up.

Garry removed his son's wet diaper, he then opened and placed the fresh one so it was partly hung over the edge of his son's bed, "Stay there, kiddo," Garry said softly.

Christopher nodded, gazing at his bookcase absentmindedly.

Garry got out a wet-wipe, and started cleaning Christopher's bottom.

Christopher squirmed, and giggled, softly exclaiming, "It's cold!"

Garry sighed, "Well, you'll be clean in a sec, then you can sit down, OK?"

Christopher smiled up over his shoulder at Garry, "Thanks Daddy. Almost done?"

Garry nodded, putting the used wipe in the used diaper, "Yep, sit down, kiddo . . . "

Christopher sat down with a sigh, saying, "That feels better . . . "

Garry smiled, getting a wet-wipe out, and holding it out for his son, "Use this to clean your hands and your middle, Chris,"

Christopher took the wet-wipe and washed his hands.

"Clean your middle, Chris," Garry reminded gently.

Christopher cleaned his middle, thoroughly cleaning his genitals.

Garry smiled, and gave his son a thumbs-up, "Good for you,"

Christopher smiled.

Garry gave his son a pat on the shoulder.

Christopher grinned up at Garry, "I'm a big kid!"

Garry nodded, "Yep! That's right, you are,"

Christopher put the second wipe on the used diaper, with the other one.

"Get your stuff set up for your cath., kiddo," Garry said.

Christopher put some gel on a Kleenex.

Garry took the catheter, and put some gel, from the Kleenex, onto the inserted end of the catheter. Garry catheterized his son. When it entered his bladder, he discovered that there wasn't much left to come out.

"I knew I didn't need to cath.!" Christopher grumbled.

Garry sighed, saying, "We have to make sure,"

Christopher nodded understanding, kind of.

Garry removed the catheter after a couple of moments of unsuccessful probing with it in his son's bladder, and he placed both ends of the catheter in the beaker. Garry brought the diaper up between his son's legs. Garry lifted his son up a bit to shift his bottom around, so he could comfortably do up the tapes on Chris's diaper.

Christopher grinned.

Garry wrapped up the wet diaper, then he got up, went over to the diaper pail in the bedroom closet, and shoved it in the top of Christopher's diaper pail.

Christopher grinned, "Whose gonna read me a bedtime story?"

Garry put up a finger, saying, "Let's get your Pyjama-bottoms on ya first . . . "

Christopher nodded, "OK . . . "

Garry smiled, picking up the Pyjama-bottoms, "Lean back, Chris,"

Christopher leaned back on his elbows, and his legs out in front of him.

Garry got Christopher's pyjama-bottoms up his legs.

"Thank you, Daddy," Christopher said.

Garry reached out for his son, "Come here, big guy," he said.

Christopher sat up and reached for his father.

Garry lifted Christopher up under his arms, and pulled his pyjama-bottoms up over his bottom.

Christopher smiled, "Story?"

Garry nodded, picking his son up, and carrying the boy over to the bookcase in the far corner of the room, setting him down in front of it. "Keep the story short Chris," Garry said.

Christopher nodded, understanding, as he looked through his bookcase. "OK, Daddy," Christopher said.

Garry cleaned up Christopher's catheter equipment.

Christopher looked at his story books, and he found one he liked, "Daddy, can you read me 'No . . . Kiss . . . For . . . Mother . . . ', please?" Christopher asked.

"Oh, sure," Garry said. "Hop into bed, Chris, then I'll read to you," Garry said.

"Ok, Daddy," Christopher said. Christopher climbed into bed.

Garry came over and pulled the covers up on his son's bed. Garry sat down on the chair next to Christopher's bed and started to read.

Christopher chuckled with glee every so often.

When the story was done, Garry got up and put the book away. "Ok, Chris, time to go to sleep now," Garry said.

Christopher and Garry hugged and kissed each other. "Good night, Chris. Sweet dreams," Garry said.

"Nighty-night Daddy," Christopher said.

"I'll ask your mother to come and say good night," Garry said.

Garry left Christopher's room. He told Margo that Chris was in bed and waiting for her to come say good night.

Margo entered her son's room, and she went over and knelt by his bed.

"Nighty-Night, Chrisy," Margo said.

"Nighty-Night, Mommy," Christopher said.

Margo and Christopher hugged and kissed each other. Once Margo released her embrace, Christopher rolled onto his side, and started to suck his thumb. Margo tucked her son into bed. Margo turned out the light when she left her son's room.

Christopher fell asleep hugging his stuffed toy turtle. The light in the room faded as the sun fell below the horizon.

Hopefully, things would be better at school tomorrow.