Chasing a Dream

Chapter 5

April 3, 1989

"Hold your pencil like this, Chase," the teacher said.

The twins were set to start first grade that September coming, so their preschool tutor had to make sure they were up for the challenges ahead. An occupational therapist was appointed to make sure Chase knew how to perform simple but vital tasks, including how to handle and use a pencil. Even as toddler at the coloring table, the little boy had trouble handling a crayon-having two fingers only made things harder for Chase, but he had also been wearing the mittens Jackie had given him. The occupational therapist gave him instructions regarding posture and told him to place his other gloved cleft hand over the paper he had tried to write on, and he followed through to the best of his ability.

"I'm trying..." Between his two covered fingers, he tried to grip the pencil, but as soon as he became fixed on how the therapist's normal hands gripped her pen, he became distracted-his thumb slipped, and he grunted breathily.

"Easy there," the older, mature woman said, guiding his hand to proper grip. "Here. Like this."

"I have two," the six-year old said. "You have five more."

"Oh, silly," the therapist laughed. "Five and two make seven."

"Seven?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered matter-of-factly. "If I had seven in total with ten normal fingers, I'd have...how many fingers, Chase?"

"Uh..." The little boy shook his head, struggling to make the letter J not look like a T. "One hundred?"

"No, no," the therapist said, nearly-face-palming. "I would have seventeen fingers."

"Oh...so many," Chase sighed, completing the tracing of the letter J-it still resembled a T, and the teacher shook her head.

"No, Chase. What letter is that?" the therapist asked, pointing down at the paper he just drew the letter on.

"J?" he guessed.

"No." The therapist sighed and rubbed her furrowed brow. "You drew a T. This is not a J. I told you to draw a J. You didn't follow directions."

"They are the same," he muttered stubbornly.

"No, they are not the same," the therapist said sternly. "They are two different letters and made very different sounds."

"Yes. Jah and tah," the little boy sounded, making a hard J and a hard T.

"Well, Chase, you seem to have that down, don't you?" she sighed hopelessly. "Wait, I'll tell you what. Let's remove these gloves to make things easier?"

Just when she was reaching for the edges of Chase's precious, heather-gray mittens, he pulled away and looked up at her.

"No!" he exclaimed.

"What? Don't you want to be able to write easier?" the therapist asked. "Plus, it's too hot. Give them here."

"No!" he repeated at the same volume.

"Please, Chase. For your own learning's sake," the therapist pleaded.

"No! Miss Jackie gave them special to me!" the little boy said, tears welling in his eyes. "I don't wanna."

"I'll count to three. By the count of three, give me your gloves," the therapist said. "You need to learn how to write correctly."

"No, no!" he shouted, crumpling up the paper he was working his letter practice on and chucking the paper ball at the therapist.