No Utensil Required

“Jeffery, I made your chicken dinos for dinner.” Annie used a towel to remove the hot tray from the oven and slid the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets onto a plate.

Mike asked, “Why don’t you have him eat real food with us?” He and Annie had been together for only a few months, though they’d known each other since they were kids.

“He likes chicken dinos.”

“Well, shouldn’t he use a fork?”

“He likes finger food.”

“He’s eleven years old and still eats with his hands.”

“He can eat with a fork when he wants to.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

Annie arched an eyebrow. “If you lived closer, you’d see him more than three days a week.”

The apartment’s great room held a kitchen, dining area, and lounge. On the TV, Patchy the Pirate chanted, “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”

Chastened, he turned to the boy. “Jeff, can you eat with a knife and fork?”

“I guess so.”

“You can’t, can you?”

Jeffery ignored the accusation. “Mom, can I have some ranch?”

Mike pressed the issue. “You’re eleven years old; you should use a knife and fork.”

Annie put a ramekin of ranch dressing on the table. Jeffery said nothing as she returned to the kitchen, but he held one of the nuggets aloft in his long, elegant fingers and glared at Mike in a silent Fuck off. The expression lasted only a breath, then he dunked the stamped chicken-food into the salad dressing and ate it in one bite while focused on the TV.

No one uttered a word for the next seventeen minutes; Annie made dinner. The others followed the antics of SpongeBob and crew while Jeffery dunked and crunched. Over the closing ukulele twangs, Jeffery said, “I need to do my homework.” 

Mike pulled the boy’s chair back from the table and helped him to his feet. Jeffery tugged his arm away. “I’m fine,” he said, then ambled down the hallway to his bedroom.

Mike went to the kitchen and made a cocktail. Annie already had wine. She was checking the simmering cauliflower when he came up behind her and kissed her neck. “I wish you wouldn’t push him like that,” she said.

He said, “This situation is ridiculous. I get that he has a disability. He has an awkward gait and won’t ever play pro football, but he’ll never be independent if he doesn’t start doing things for himself.”

“Honey, the kids and I have been in this apartment less than a year. It needs to be a low-key environment. Their father drives them crazy at his place. This is their refuge.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Shush.” She turned and moved close, embracing him with one arm while trying not to spill the wine she held. “Just leave him alone, ok?”

“I’m only trying to help.” Making allowances sounded too much like giving up on the kid.

“I know, but you’re not.” More tired than angry. “Fine motor skills are a challenge for him. He doesn’t need you telling him what he’s doing wrong.”

“Fine motor skills? Have you watched him with his Xbox? Let me just talk to him.”

“Okay, but promise me you’ll be positive.” She squeezed him.

He went to the bedroom door and knocked. “Jeff, can I come in?”

“Who’s stopping you?”

Jeffery was at the desk, hand on a mouse, watching the monitor. There wasn’t space for anything else except his twin bed and a dresser. Mike sat on the bed.

“Look, Jeff, I want to help you… grow. Because I know you’re capable.” He struggled to find the right words. “Eating with a knife and fork is a good step.”

Jeffery studied the monitor. “Knife and fork, knife and fork,” he sing-songed. “Stop bugging me about knife and fork, already.”

“Hey, I’m on your side. Your mother made me promise not to be a dick; I’m doing my best.”

Jeffery smirked but kept his head down so Mike couldn’t see. “I don’t need your help; I can use a knife and fork just fine.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve only seen you eat with your hands or a spoon. I mean, your mother and sister actually cut up your food for you. Do you like that? Aren’t you embarrassed they treat you like a toddler when you’re nearly a teenager?”

Jeffery was silent, but his ears reddened.

Mike said, “Listen, if you say you can eat with a knife and fork, I’ll accept it. I’m not gonna argue. But I’ll make you a deal: You eat with a knife and fork at dinner every night this week – no matter how long it takes. I’ll be working up north, so you’ll be on your honor, and I trust you. When I return, we’ll have an eat-with-your-hands dinner for the four of us. I’ll never mention knife and fork again. I’ll even cook that dinner.”

“I’ll be at my dad’s Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.”

“He doesn’t have utensils at his house?”

Jeffery rolled his eyes, feigning disgust, but he couldn’t quite keep the twitch of a smile off the corner of his mouth. “Of course he does.”

Mike said, “Deal?”

Jeffery looked at him as if trying to determine whether the reward was worth the effort and, after a moment, replied, “Deal.” They sealed it with a high five.

A week later, Mike returned. He came through the door on Sunday afternoon, backpack on his shoulder and shopping bag in hand.  Annie and both kids snuggled under a blanket on the couch, watching the Giants play Washington.  He called out, “Jeff! How’d you do? Are we all eating with our hands tonight?”

“Yes!” He waved his arms over his head. “Dad said eating chicken dinos with a knife and fork is stupid, but he let me do it anyway. What’s for dinner?”

Mike winked and held up the shopping bag, “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Jeffery grinned, held up both hands like a surgeon, and said, “Perfect — no utensil required.”