After the tantrum had subsided, I went over to where Samuel was still sitting on the floor and asked him why he was so upset. At this point, Mandy rolled her eyes and pushed her shopping cart to the end of the aisle, disappearing into the socks and underwear department.
Samuel proceeded to give me, and a few of the Walmart staff members, a story about a teddy bear he’d owned while living in North Korea. The teddy bear was the only constant he’d had in his life since he was a baby, originally given to him by the kindly missionary who’d smuggled him across the DMZ, and Samuel freaked out whenever someone tried to take it from him.
“But your teddy bear’s at home,” I reminded him.
“Doesn’t matter. Whenever someone tries to take something away from me, I freak out. I think it’s called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
With that said, he picked himself off the floor, brushed the dirt off his jeans and approached a mountain-like stack of Roombas arranged in one corner of the department.
It occurred to me, once again, that these could not be the words of a 15 year old.
Oblivious to my suspicions, Samuel picked up one of the Roombas, briefly scanned the packaging, then bellowed, “Ma, can we get one of these?”
Mandy failed to answer, probably because she was two aisles away, rummaging through a bargain bin of children’s socks.
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