A few bays down, after not really impressing a young boy with our dumb antics, we’re moving on.  Then from behind their curtain we hear, “I could hang out with those two ALL DAY.  They’re FUN!”

It finally happens; we visit a boy with the exact same name and age of my very own son.   He is charming and delightful and accompanied by two loving parents.  He properly enjoys our farts, burps, chase scenes around the curtains culminating in ventriloquist farts and Shakespearean burps.  Later we even pass him going for a walk around the hallways, so that’s encouraging.   My heart skips only a few beats.

We visit a kid with only tendrils for arms whose head is supported by a halo brace suspended from above.  He summons us in without taking any of his intense focus off the screen where he shows us his three favorite things; basketball, FIFA football and gangsta rap.  He is extremely adept at manipulating the keyboard with his feet, and friendly.  We had quite the conversation in french/creole.  “Je ne parle pa fransay” he says (I don’t speak french).  “Alors je ne parles jamais creole” (well I don’t speak any Creole) I say.  Yet there we were, chatting it up the whole time.  He happily takes our postcard and sticker before we leave, one in between the toes of each of his feet.

Oh my.  This family with two little boys; one the patient and one a brother.  The patient *almost* succeeds in proving his claim that he “can’t laugh” because of pain.  Meanwhile the little brother succeeds completely; leaning on his brother’s bed and studying us intently the whole time, he gives NO response until later in the hallway.  “Look there they are!” she says.  Finally he speaks, “But they just fart every day!” he complains.  #True.