My Friend Tank

Location: Apartment
Mood: Anticipating sadness

When I started the work that I do, just over a year and a half ago, I met this little boy.  He was three years old at the time. I used to joke that he was shaped like a cinder block...because he was.   To my friends and family I referred to him as Tank.  He stood out amongst the other kids, because he had a certain quality.  Something about him was just...entertaining.

Tank could barely talk when I met him.  That's not for lack of trying (he loves to talk!), and it definitely was not because he was shy.  Tank's parents, for whatever reason, failed to recognize that he was sick. A lot. Poor kid had chronic ear infections.  No one knows what the world sounded like to him, but it definitely didn't sound like something his brain could convert into language.  He couldn't talk to the grown ups in his world, and he lacked the ability to ask for even his most basic needs to be met. However, what he did seem to find out was if he urinated around the house, tipped over large pieces of furniture, or hurt the other kids he got attention, and eventually his needs were met.

When I was first introduced to Tank, it was a couple months after he had corrective surgery. He was beginning to acquire language at a very rapid pace. However, his speech continued to be unintelligible.  I was just beginning my work in this field, and felt like I didn't have a clue about anything.  Then, there was this kid who I literally could not understand. He was bulky and clumsy. Tank crashed his way through the other childrens' toys and games, and seemed to enjoy their negative responses. If he wanted a hug, he would just run at you full throttle, and knock you to the ground.

Against all odds, he was the first child I worked with that made me feel like I had found my calling. I didn't know what I was doing.  I didn't know how to help.  I couldn't understand what he wanted to say, but I noticed him because he wanted to help me.  I was new to his classroom, and didn't know my way around.  Rather than telling him to complete tasks, I brought myself down to his level and looked at him as a tutor.  I asked Tank to help me learn the rules and where everything goes. And he loved it. He'd stop whatever destructive activity he was engaged in to show me where the Rescue Heroes were supposed to go.  If he started to run away from me, and I asked him when it was time to run, Tank would grab my hand take me over to the schedule.  Still running, but it's a start.

Eventually, I became a regular staff, and he became a more permanent friend. I followed him down the hallways as he tucked his arms in, shook his hips rapidly and chanted "potty, potty, potty, potty" in an amusingly low voice. Once in the stall he would sing himself through the steps, ("pee. pee. pee. stop. flush.") I listened as he attempted to explain the plot to his favorite movies with a limited and indecipherable vocabulary.  I was amazed at how patient he was with such a debilitating speech impediment.  He became incredibly expressive.  Tank would describe entire scenes in cartoons, and while you couldn't understand his words you could tell from his actions, mannerisms, and sound effects what was happening.

I will never forget the time he told me about his foster father driving a car.  He mimed the steering wheel, muttering incomprehensibly about what was happening, then he SCREEEEEEEECHED, and leaned sideways. "Woah," he said. Obviously, this had been an event.

I've been with Tank through two of his birthdays, and watched him grow. He's still rather stocky for his age, but he's taller and thinner now.  He looks more and more like a big boy each day. Currently he tells these surprisingly good Knock-Knock jokes (T: knock knock? ME: who's there? T:banana.ME:  banana who? T: Eat me.), and often poses hysterical scenarios (ex. "wouldn't it be funny if we didn't have feet?") . He enjoys affection, and will jump into your arms any time you ask for a hug. Tank is avoidant when it comes to big events, or strong feelings. However, he spontaneously says that he loves us, and I know it's true.

This week I have to say goodbye to Tank.  He has grown a great deal since I've known him. He's bigger, smarter, and more aware than ever before.  He still has a lot of work to do, but that work will have to be elsewhere. My team has advocated against his departure for nearly six months, but for reasons I can't fathom we've lost that battle.

This little boy is going to hear a lot of very upsetting news in the months to come, and I will no longer be there to support him.  He is going to leave my world. And I'm worried that this happy little boy is going to vanish entirely in the years to come.


Clearly, I can't tell his story as well as I can tell the others'.  I think it's because his is too close to home. No matter what, this child has made an impact on my heart, and I will never forget him for it.