Hello, I am a little boy who only sees right with his heart...
Which doesn't make my parent's daily life any easier. So I'm blind and different (mentally speaking).
This blog was born in french during autumn 2003 and is now progressively being translated in your language.
New articles will therefore appear on a regular basis.
DISCLAIMER
... my apologies to the people who hadn't understood this yet, all articles on this website are created and written by myself (his dad).
Lou is currently unable to do it,, just like he is to this day unable to grasp the concept of a "computer", "internet", or to focus for a long period of time on a conversation. Only time will tell us if we manage to integrate him completely in the world in which he lives.
Therefore all stories, despite relating actual facts, are obviously biased by my interpretation of his behavior. But having known him for over five years, I don't think I'm getting it wrong.
Thank you to the "Roi Baudoin" foundation ( "Parcours hors pistes" ). The new design, hosting and translations were partially made possible by their financial support.
Many thanks to Marco Pappalardo et Laetitia Bouet for the translation.
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wednesday 5 january 2005
30. The squeaky door !
I love sounds so much, that not too long ago, one of my "trips" was to go in the entrance hallway and stay there for a long time making the door to the living room squeak. I have to say daddy hadn't oiled it in a long time and it made beautiful sounds based on whether I moved it slowly or very fast. A real haunted house. It was great and I was having the time of my life : ME : "Door, you can't go "weeeeeeeeee" !" Then I would make the door squeak and get even more mad : "Door ! What did I just say ! You can't squeak !" or " You can't cry ! " (etc...).
The problem is even the neighbor would be woken up by the noise of the door when mommy and
daddy came home late on week-ends (they like partying and blowing off some steam on w-e). So mommy (that's right, mommy ! Congratulations daddy !) oiled the hinges of the door. Drama ! I got so mad... I was infinitely sad and I kept saying : "The door, it's crying because it doesn't squeak anymore!". And that lasted for two or three days ! So my parents found the trick and told me : "You see, the door, it's not crying anymore... It means it's happy ! It didn't like squeaking". They sure got me there ! Nevertheless, such an argument doesn't exactly help them making me understand that an armchair, a chair, a table (...) aren't alive the way us humans or animals are. But that's a whole other story.
By Luc Boland :: mercredi 5 janvier 2005 at 18:48 :: Day by day
:: #45
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