Yesterday on Facebook, a friend's Aspie son was extolling the virtues of platypi (that they're unfair) and I explained to her that my daughter had a friend who was half platypus. She asked whether the girl had venom-filled spikes on her feet, and I promised I'd ask Emma.
"No," she said, "She just has regular feet."
So that question was answered. As for the question of the girl/platypus, here's the story (from when Emma was still going to an after care program...two years ago).
1/4
Platypus
I give my
oldest daughter a lot of credit for her smarts.
She's bright, and articulate, she reads well and gets straight A's, and
so sometimes it's easy for me to forget that underneath it all she is still
just an 8 year-old girl. She is also an
arguer. I’m certain I have no idea where
she gets it, but she'll argue minutia and technicality with all the confidence,
authority, and yes, swagger of an expert witness (or her father).
Last night,
preoccupied with collecting the detritus of our most recent trip to the
library, bookmarks and books, due date slips and free book coupons and exiting
the car to walk into the house, my daughter bent my ear with the tale of one of
her new friends from day camp. I'll
admit I was only half paying attention.
The gentle trilling of her musical voice was background noise that only
snapped into sharper focus when she said the word, "platypus". I'm not sure why that caught my
attention. Perhaps my brain, already in
auto-pilot, sensed that no ordinary conversation ever contains the word
"platypus" and that attention should probably be paid. I stopped her in mid-story and asked her to
repeat.
"My
friend at school is half platypus," she repeated.
"Like
Perry the Platypus?" I asked.
"No,
like she's really half platypus."
"No,
honey, she isn't."
"Yes,
she IS!" she adamantly replied.
This conversation (the line above and this line) was repeated perhaps
three times, with each participant growing still more vocal in his/her
assertion, until I realized I would get nowhere repeating my
"argument", "no she isn't" louder and more forcefully. I attempted instead to get to the heart of
the matter.
"Why do you think she is half
platypus?" We climbed the stairs to her room, carrying her new books. I sat down on the bed and took off my shoes.
"Well,
she told us she was, but we didn't believe her, so she said, 'you can ask my
mom when she comes to pick me up, she won't lie', and when her mom came in, we
asked her and she said she was!" I
took this information in stoically.
"Okay,
so her mom said her daughter was half platypus?"
"Yes,"
she confirmed, "And she said SHE was half platypus too!"
Ugh. "Well," I started slowly, "she
is absolutely NOT half platypus, but she may be pure bred odd. Emma, in order for your friend to be half
platypus (I didn't address the fact that her mother (also half platypus) would
have to have mated with a half platypus father, feeling that the math
associated with this would escape her, but focused instead on the easiest means
for a full blooded human to beget a half platypus offspring) her father would
have to be an actual platypus. So. . .
if her mother is human, and her father is a platypus, THEN she could be half
platypus."
I rested my
argument there. I felt fairly confident
in my victory. Emma was quiet, thinking
about this, perhaps. I got up from the
bed and carried my shoes to the closet.
"Alright,
I have to help your mother make dinner, go ahead and start reading and we'll
call you down". I left Emma on the
bed with her book and her thoughts and started down the stairs.
From the
bedroom above, quietly, as if to herself, she said, "There might be a
really handsome platypus out there. . . "
My initial groan
preceded my resulting laughter.