"What we having for dinner?"
"What do you feel like eh?" Sam looks around at all the shelves.
"Pizza!"
"We had pizza yesterday mate. Something different today."
"Hmmmmm. Pie! Can we have pie? Chicken pie. With loads and loads of gravy."
"I think we can do that, come on, lets go and find the pie and gravy then. And some potatoes." The seven year old hares off in front of him, running off to the potatoes. James watches, as Sam stops dead, and spins round, running back to him.
"Daddy...can we not have any peas?"
"You need to eat your veggies Sam, make you grow big and strong."
"Yeah, but can we not have any tonight? I'm already big and strong. I don't need peas." He grins up at his father. "I don't think any one really needs peas." James chuckles.
"Just this once then alright. I mean it though. Just this once."
"Yes Daddy. Just this once for no more peas."
"Come on then, grab those potatoes, and lets go and pay." Sam pulls a bag of potatoes from the shelf and dumps it into the basket.
.
They stand in the queue and Sam does his best to sneak a chocolate bar into the basket.
"Put it back Sam."
"...But-"
"-No buts. There's no way you're not having peas and having chocolate." Sam huffs as he replaced the chocolate. He looks around, eyes falling on the sign above the checkout. James can see him mouthing the sounds to himself. It comes as somewhat of a relief. Its an ongoing struggle to get Sam to engage with words at the best of times. Its not that Sam isn't interested, not at all. He loves stories, and there's a keen thirst for science emerging. But getting the kid to read or write anything can be near impossible.
Occasionally though, occasionally the curiosity will get the better of the boy, and he'll stand there trying to read something, with a determined little look on his face.
Its been a steep learning curve for James himself as well. He knows the science and the logic behind Sam's diagnosis of dyslexia. He understands the mechanisms in play, or not in play as the case may be. But the emotional side of it all, is harder to comprehend. He doesn't know how best to deal with Sam's anger and frustration, because he doesn't fully understand it. He doesn't know what its like to look at a page of writing and not be able to decipher it properly. All he can do is be supportive and hope he's doing it right. So when he sees Sam trying to read something without a battle or without prompting, its encouraging, makes him feel like he's not failing too badly.
"What does that say, Dad?" Sam asks him, after a few minutes of mouthing phonics to himself.
"What do you think?"
"I dunno. It starts with a 'buh and then an 'ah''" James smiles, and ruffles his hair.
"It says 'Baskets Only' Sam."
"Right. So you can't bring a trolley to this till?"
"Nah, there's not enough space is there?" Sam smiles, and he looks at the conveyor, to see how much more shopping the person in front has to be scanned.
That's when James hears it. The ladies in the next queue think they're whispering, think they are being subtle. But they aren't. And one look at Sam, lets him know that his son heard it too.
"He should be able to read that, lad of his age."
He should let it go. They're in public, and he's an ex-policeman. He should know better. But Sam is looking at the floor, and he seems to have shrunk into himself.
And then he's in front of the cashier, and he's paying for their shopping. Sam hasn't made eye contact with him since the comment, and he's not looking up at the cashier either. One little comment, and his boy is ashamed enough not to look at anyone.
Well James isn't having it.
When they walk out of the supermarket, the same ladies are standing by a car. Sam still isn't looking at him, dragging his feet along the ground. Sod it, he's going to give them a piece of his mind.
"Excuse me," He says, all politeness. They turned to look at him, and they look uncomfortable. Good.
"Yes?"
"I couldn't help over hearing your comment about my son's reading ability, and I just wanted to tell you, that I think you need to grow the hell up." They look shocked, not expecting that end to a sentence that started so politely.
"I beg you pardon?"
"Its not my pardon you should be begging, its his," he says, pointing at Sam. "You expect that kind of mindless teasing from children. Kids are cruel. But adults...adults should know when to keep their stupid opinions to themselves."
"How dare you-"
"-How dare I? You know nothing about my son. You know nothing about what he has to deal with, about any difficulties he might have. And yet you choose to make a public comment designed to belittle him. That's bullying. And someone your age should damn well know better!"
"I didn't mean-"
"-I know what you didn't mean. You didn't mean to be heard." He sees Sam stand up a little straighter out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe he couldn't read that word, maybe he should be able to at his age, according to your uninformed opinions. But you know what? He bloody tried. And what did he get? Someone doing him down, because it doesn't fit with their view of how a boy they don't even know should be developing. That kind of thing can make a kid give up when it happens at school, let alone when it gets said in public in front of strangers." He snorts bitterly.
"Well, I hope it made you feel bigger. I hope it was bloody worth it. I'd ask you to apologise, but it'd be worth nothing, just like your opinions on my kid." He turns to Sam, who's standing there, trying not to smirk.
"Come on mate, dinner time eh?"
"Yeah."
.
When they get out of earshot, Sam slips his hand into James'.
"Thanks Dad."
"That's alright mate, someone needs to tell them."
"...I mean...thanks for not telling them I'm dyslexic."
"Its none of their business is it? I'll never tell anyone without making sure its alright with you first Sam."
"Like you asked before we told Uncle Robbie?"
"Yeah. Come on. Dinner and a DVD eh?" Sam nods, smiling a little.
"No peas?" James chuckles at him, shoving the shopping into the back of the car.
"No peas."