While my brother and sister, Trent and Jet, were in superhero mode and occupied with anchoring our house back to land, I sat on the Henderson’s patio and watched. That’s about all I do. It’s all I can do since I don’t have active powers and I’m tiny. I don’t mind; I like to chill and think about my thoughts anyway.
I do a lot of thinking. My family knows that I can project my thoughts, but I only cast pictures. They don’t realize that I have a whole mind, capable of full thought, and that I sit and think a lot. For the longest time, it never even occurred to me to tell them, until one day, when I was about six months old.
We visited my uncle, Mick, who also had a six-month-old. Strangely, baby Bryon did not seem to think like me. Then, I paid attention to movies and TV, and none of the babies were thinking like me. I kept my mouth shut.
Jet and Trent returned our home to its indented spot. Before we could finish sharing our celebratory grins, the mailman delivered a letter from mommy and daddy saying they’re on their way back—and with cake! Then, before the mailman could round the corner, they were indeed back. The neighbors called.
Once they completed their head count and surveyed the scene, they came for me. I was ready to greet them by starting at the top of this whole ordeal—knowing they’d just receive my words as slurred goos and gaas.
While we strode into the house and I talked, I noticed my mommy listening. She was really, really listening—even understanding. I slowed my goos down and watched her watch me. When had this happened? Why hadn’t I noticed?
My daddy placed me in mommy’s arms before retreating with the others, and we stood staring at one another. Suddenly, a barrage of images of us flooded my eyes, and I felt warm in my tummy. Wow, my mommy can do it too. But the best news of all: she brought me cake!