Invisible Me

Jonah is a great catcher of dreams. Almost every morning, he asks first thing, “What were your dreams?” And he’s got some good ones himself.

When I relayed, with some excitement, my dream about John being Spiderman (though he didn’t have the suit) and him saving Jonah and me by tackling a Venom-like bloke (also without a suit), J just couldn’t get past the fact that the super suits were missing. We talked about it all the way to school. We talked about it after school. We talked about it that night in bed. “But where was his suit?” John demonstrated how you didn’t have to have a suit to have skills and proceeded to hang upside down from the ceiling by his hands and feet. Okay, so he was laying on the top bunk about 3 1/2 feet below the ceiling, and okay, J didn’t believe him in the least. But still.

When J couldn’t remember his dreams he used to insist he had no dreams at all. That’s been revised. The following conversation is a condensed version of several different conversations over the course of days. The opening phrase is something J’s taken to using all the time. Even when he’s just starting a story. It’s hilarious.

“Where was I?” asks J. “O yes! Sometimes my brain catches my dreams and watches them but my eyes don’t see them.”

“Is that why you can’t remember them?” I return.

“Yep yep!”

I notice a faint scratch on his cheek and ask him where it came from.

“I sended it from my invisible brain and it smoothed it down. It had claws inside the invisible brain that came down and scratched me.”

I should add here that J has a very interesting relationship with his brain. On a walk over the weekend he (Jonah, not his brain) plopped himself down in the middle of the sidewalk in a pensive mood. When I asked what he was doing, he replied:

“My braincilator is just thinking about doing a parachute or maybe just crawling like a baby or something.”

Yeah, you read me right. Braincilator. I love the machine quality of that. It really emphasizes the way it can work for you.

So fast forward to the invisible brain day. (Still following? I know. It’s quite a trip.) After school, J continued to wax eloquently along this vein:

“Mom, can I tell you something? So, as was I was saying, I have an Invisible Me. He tries to help me with his invisible brain. You know what he has in there? Invisible guts!”

Unfortunately, the conversation was interrupted by Gabriel’s sighting of a garbage truck and his subsequent petition— “Gaba dwive dat gaw-bage gwuck!” —repeated in an increasingly loud voice ad nauseam until I conceded, “Yes, you can drive that garbage truck.” By that time Jonah had entered goofy town and an intelligible conversation was pretty much impossible because it was all he could do to stay on the sidewalk. Much flailing of arms and shouting of “Whoa! Whoa!” followed by a slightly maniacal laugh.

Invasion of the Invisible Me?






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