It’s Christmas Day and for us Christmas was last night. This morning I enjoyed listening and watching the kids playing with their new ‘toys’. They debate over which presents are the most fun, or the most interesting. We have R rolling around on his new scooter. He’s more active today after spending hours last night building and rebuilding a marble maze. B can’t hear anyone 50% of the time as he has his new headphones on and listening to his new albums through his iPod. V & J play computer games. V gets up to play with R’s marble maze. The talk doesn’t stop. Someone is constantly making a comment on something. It’s Christmas Day and they have things to say.
I remembered earlier how we used to fill stockings with little games, toys and sweets. The toys never survived long. My son used to love those wind up toys… little critters that would walk across the floor and table. Eventually the inevitable would happen and they’d be wound up too much in an attempt to make them go further. They’d stop working.
Weeks or months after Christmas he would bring me his latest ‘broken’ toy, disappointed that it wouldn’t work anymore. I’d open it up and see if it could be fixed. He’d look over my shoulder and together we’d work out how it works and what’s wrong with it. Sometimes they only needed a little adjustment, sometimes we could fix it to make it work again. Sometimes it was broken. My son would sit the ‘broken’ one on a shelf for a few days before he could throw it out. Maybe he thought that I would be able to fix it after all.
He’s 18 now and doesn’t remember these toys. He doesn’t think I’m a miracle worker anymore, but he grew up with those memories inside him. When something stops working, he’ll bring it to me in the hopes I can do something. Nowadays it’s not like those little wind up toys… we’re talking all kinds of electrical gadgets that I can only shake my head at. If the problem isn’t dust, or a fuse then it’s usually beyond me.
If I say I can’t help, he’ll open up the item to see why. It’s not enough for him that I say it’s ‘broken’. He wants to know why it doesn’t work. He’ll pore over the wiring looking for the problem. A few times, with the smaller gadgets he’s found a ‘loose wire’ or similar and come to me with it or if it needs an extra careful touch with the soldering, then he waits for his uncle who’s an electrical engineer.
It’s good that he doesn’t throw something away as soon as it stops working, especially considering the throwaway culture we live in now. Sometimes things can’t be made to work again and he’s okay with that as well.
I was sitting outside earlier and remembering the ‘broken critters’ fondly and I realise that it’s one of my fears with therapy… what if after everything, after opening up and being pored over, I can’t be fixed? What happens if I can’t be made to work the way I’m meant to? Or I can’t be put back together again? Will I be thrown away too? Sigh. I know it’s just a fear. I can’t believe that I’m not fixable. I don’t believe I’m not worth the effort. Just a fear.