Understanding

• Josie Mcdougall, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2015

Understanding. Something taken for granted my most people. Something that is assumed of you. Something that can change a life.

The definition of understanding is: the ability to understand something; comprehension. I do not understand a single one of those words. I have never understood anything for the last twelve years of my life. I am twelve years old.

Just words floating around in my brain like hello, dinner, park, play and evaporation. What do they mean? Everybody but me seems to know. People that talk to me may as well be talking to a brick wall. Some do not realise I am taking everything in but not comprehending any of it. Sometimes I feel sorry for them. But most of the time it’s them feeling sorry for me. In my opinion there is nothing seriously wrong with me but

I am starting to understand a few basic things like how to eat or how to get myself into bed. Both these things ‘normal people’ take for granted at least once a day. I didn’t really know any different when I was younger but I am starting to realise there is a world around me.
I learnt how to walk a month ago and ever since, I have practiced every day. This morning after the struggle of getting out of bed, I practiced my walking slowly at first (one step a minute) and then slowly getting faster until I reached one step every twenty seconds. To a ‘normal person’ this would seem extremely slow, in fact they could probably take two steps a second if they wanted but everybody has to learn, and this is my way. It takes a while to get it perfect but I give everything my best.

When I was little it was easier because no one expected you to understand. Back then words were like raindrops on a humid, heat-filled day. Words where like paradise to my ears but hell to my brain. The words came with joy, excitement and exhilaration. But not one did I understand. I took in the attention like a ‘normal child’ taking in McDonalds.

I lived a very happy life as an only child until I was seven years old. I have never seen my mother since then. I think my dad tried to tell me what happened but a blank piece of A4 paper would have understood more than me. Sometimes I dream of what happened to my mother. I’m sure she is just on a holiday. But then if she did then why was my dad crying and still does a lot of the time and why did we go somewhere, where everybody was dressed in black. Maybe he just really misses her and decided to go to mass. Does everybody always wear black at mass?

I miss my mum too I hope she comes back from her holiday soon. Maybe she will give me even more attention because we need too catch up on a bit.