“! I can’t take this anymore.” I slam the spoon and the fork hardly on the dining table, making all things on the table rattle and the soup spills.

“Watch your language, Sandeul! We’re eating!” I hear my father, Cho Kyuhyun, speaking from my right side.  “And get back to your seat, young man.” He speaks when I stand up from my seat and ready to leave.

I whirl around and face him. “Can’t you see that I’m tired of all this? Can’t we have a day when we have a normal meal?”

My father wipes his lips before saying, “What are you talking about? We have normal meal. We always do.”

“Yeah, we have soup, smoked salmon and strawberry smoothies.” I snort. “It’s normal if today is not goddamn Sunday!” I’m half-bellowing.

“Sandeul, I’ve warned you.” My father picks his fork and knife and starts slicing his salmon. “Besides...,” He sends the sliced salmon into his mouth. “It’s delicious. Your mother always cooks delicious food for us.” He smiles at the person on his right side as he chews his food.

If you think there are only my father and I in this room, you are totally wrong. My mother, Sungmin, is with us, he is sitting across my seat; quietly eating his salmon. And if you think I’m over-ing because of food, think about this. We always have toast with chocolate-peanut jam and milk every morning. Okay, that still looks normal. But you have to know what we have for dinner. Monday is M-lettered food Day. Tuesday is Invention Day; meaning he will make food he hasn’t made before. If he failed, he will make the exact menu next Tuesday. Do you remember what Thomas Alva Edison said? I have not failed 1,000 times. I have successfully discovered 1,000 ways to not make a light bulb. My mother is pretty much like that. Wednesday is Wheat Day. Thursday is Baking Day. Friday is Fruit Day. My mother doesn’t cook on Saturday because Saturday is my father’s turn to rummaging the kitchen. My mother also doesn’t like take-outs. So my father cooks any recipes he can find on the internet. But the thing is, my father can’t cook at all. In the end, we eat burned-food and/or totally failed-food.  And today is Sunday, it means we eat anything starts with S. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I have lived with this pattern since forever. Now, I’m getting sick and tired of all this.

If you think my mother will get mad because I say this, you are wrong again. My mother is never mad. And he is quiet, or I can say he is too quiet. If you were our neighbor, you might think I only lived with my father because the only voices that can be heard are ours. My mother and I are like strangers. We don’t talk much. The conversations we have are the usual and the boring ones; like when he asks me to put my clothes to the laundry basket every Tuesday or when he tells me to turn off the light when I forgot; something like that. Of course there were times when we talked much, that’s when he talks about his Barbie collection. No, you didn’t read it wrongly. His Barbie collection.

There is a room in our house where he keeps his Barbie collection. He goes to that room before he’s sleeping. I know it because his Barbie’s room is right beside my room. You want to know the Limited Edition Barbies? My mother will gladly show them to you.

When I was a child, every afternoon both of us played Barbie in that room. That’s when we talked a lot. We talked about the clothes, the shoes, the hair, the make-up or even the accessories. But as I’ve grown up, I found it ridiculous for a man to play Barbie and my friends started teasing me, too. So instead of playing Barbie with my mother in the Barbie’s room, I stayed late at school and hung out with my friends. I think that’s when this imaginary wall between us was built.

“You’re ing weirdo.” I say those words to no one in particular but my father seems to read my mind. He covers my mother’s ears when I say it. I leave the room as I see my father keep telling my mother that I didn’t say anything, though the look on my mother’s face says it all. He heard everything.

xxx

It’s 8:30 pm and I hear someone opening then closing the door of the room beside my room. I know it’s him. My mother is meeting his Barbies. 

I roll my body to the left and to the right on my bed as thinking how weird my mother is. I hear a soft knock and see my father poking his head on my door.

“Can we talk?” I don’t answer him but I move aside and give him some space on my bed.

He comes in and puts some papers on the bedside table before sitting beside me. Sighing loudly, he says “Why were you doing that? You hurt your mother, Sandeul.”

Mother is weird and I’m tired of all this. Instead of answering him, I remain mute.

“I will tell you something but you need to promise me one thing.” I nod. “Please keep an open mind about this topic.”

Keep an open mind? Where is this going? I don’t understand. Nonetheless, I nod again.

My father looks up; looking at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath before he says, “I don’t know whether you have noticed it, your mother has Asperger’s, Sandeul.”

“He’s retarded?” I shriek.

“No. God, no!” He shakes his head. “He is special in his own way.”

“He’s autistic.”

He shakes his head yet again. “He’s Asperger’s. Autistic people live in their own worlds; while your mother, he lives in our world with us.” He leans his back against the headboard and continues. His stare looks so far as if reminisce some old memories. “The first time I met your mother, I didn’t know what to do. He was so closed off. I tried to talk to him but he only replied me with short answers. I thought he was a snob because he didn’t like to socialize with new people and he didn’t seem to like it when people approached him too.” He goes on. “Until one day, accidentally I saw him standing in-line for New Barbie limited edition in a mall. I came to him and asked him what he was doing then he answered that he was queuing for the new collection. He told me he’s a Barbie collector and he also told me a lot about Barbie.” A smile curls on his lips. “That was the first time we talked a lot and long. That was also the first time I saw color on his face. He looked so happy when he told me about Barbie. That’s when I noticed he’s different. He’s special.”

“How’d you know he’s different? How’d you know he’s Asperger’s?”

“I read about this syndrome.” He smiles. “That night I sent him home. I met his parents—your grandparents. They were so happy seeing me because I was Sungmin’s first friend. Then they told me that he’s different and I told them I knew it and I was okay with his condition. They were grateful even more. And from that day I came to his house every day, to do our homework or just to play together with him and his Barbies.”

“The Barbie, his eating habits, or anything he does; that’s how he functions, Sandeul.” He sighs. “Don’t hate your mother, Sandeul. He is not weird. He is just different. He did his best and he did great in raising you. So don’t hate him.” My father glances down at the clock on my bedside table. It shows 9:05 pm. “I guess, he is already in our room.” My mother finishes his Barbie dating exactly at 9 o’clock.

Getting off the bed, he grabs the papers that he put on my bedside table before. He then gives the papers to me. “I know I didn’t say much nor did I enlighten you. But before you sleep, please take some time to read this. Learning about his condition will make things easier.” I scan it quickly, its print-outs from a web about Asperger’s. He walks to the door and opens it, then stops. What surprise me is he doesn’t turn around. “Would you mind if I ask a favor?”

“S-sure.”

“Please don’t be ashamed of him. He loves you. So. Much.”

xxx

When my father closed the door, I stare numbly at the ceiling. I still can’t wrap my head around this. There’s too much information I've got. I put the papers back on my bedside table because it frightens me somehow. I still can’t accept that my mother is Asperger’s.

After a couple of minutes debating with myself, I try to force the feeling away and start to read the print-outs. I try to absorbing the content as I relive memories about my mother.

People with Asperger’s syndrome have difficulties in social interaction.

That was what my father told me. But I notice it too. My mother is socially awkward. I have never seen him talk to our neighbors. He also never attended my school meeting nor did he come when teacher gave my report cards. It’s always my father who did that. I sigh. Why do we look that far? Look at me. He rarely talks to me.

They have eccentric or repetitive behaviors.

This was what I was ing tonight, his eating habits. Actually there are more; like at 8:30 am he waters the pansies in our small garden and at 4 pm he reads book in our living room. It’s not just random book but it has to be Nicholas Sparks’.

They have unusual preoccupations or rituals.

He reads magazine backwards.

They have interests in a particular subject may border on the obsessive.

My mother collects Barbie. We can build a museum with my mother's collection.

They may not understand the subtleties of language, such as irony and humor, or they may not understand the give and take nature of a conversation.

God, my mother takes every word literally. Okay, it’s kinda embarrassing but once I heard my father said to my mother that his body was hot. And you know what my mother’s reply? No, Kyuhyun. I’m cold. I think I need my jacket.

They may seem to not watching or listening but they pay attention to everything, even anything small.

I remember this one summer day. My friend told me that my mother came to school. I didn’t believe it at first because he never came here before. But when he pointed to the man who was standing in front of my school under the sunlight wearing his T-shirt, shorts and socks; I knew it’s him. I approached him and asked what he was doing there. He said that he came to give me a tennis ball. I didn’t understand why he gave me that but then he said that I would need this as ballast for my water rocket. I didn’t tell him about my water rocket project but he knew it. And you know what? Because of his tennis ball, I got an A+. Water rocket can’t work without ballast. He is a genius. I was so happy that day so I went straight home right after the school finished. I wanted to thank my mother but I couldn’t find him at home. I waited; maybe he went to somewhere first. I waited and waited and waited until my father got back from his work but my mother still didn’t show up. Then my father and I decided to find him. We strolled around the blocks but still didn’t see him. We went here and there to find him until finally we found him. Do you know where did we find him? In my school. He was sitting alone under the tree in parking lot. My father asked him what he did there and my mother answered that he didn’t know the way to get home. When I asked him how did he know the way here, do you know his answer? I ran following the yellow bus you ride every day to school, Sandeul.

My tears begin to fall as I remember about that. I can’t continue to read this, besides I have decided.

I run out of my room toward his room but something stops me. The light in the Barbie’s room is still on. My mother isn’t forgetful and it’s already passed his dating time. Quietly opening the door and the view in the room tugs my heart. My mother is sitting on the carpeted floor; he is playing with his Barbies. The unusual sight is he’s playing three Barbies right now. He dresses up the others but he only plays with one Barbie and one Ken. Even if we played a party scene, the others are always just the background. His only attention is only to one Barbie and one Ken.

That’s not what I’m seeing tonight. There are Barbie, Ken and Tommy in front of him. The little boy, Tommy, is sitting on a swing while Barbie and Ken are standing on his sides. They are happily playing. That’s when I notice something, it’s us. It’s our family. It’s my father, my mother and me.

He glances up when he sees me standing by the door but then he quickly glances away. If it was someone else, I might think he doesn’t like my presence or he doesn’t want me to be here. But it’s my mother. He can’t look at our eyes when we are speaking, he always looks at elsewhere. But I can assure you that he listens and pays attention to all what we’re talking about. It’s his condition.

I drop on my knees behind him then hug him hard. I know he's startled by my action, nonetheless he doesn’t complain. My body shakes as I cry on his shoulder. At time like this most of you may think he should at least say a comforting word or at least ask me not to cry but tonight, I know my mother better. It’s not like he doesn’t want to say those comforting words, it’s just he can’t. I know he wants to but he just can’t. And I don’t expect him to say anything because this little touch on my hands, which wrap around his waist, is already comforting. He only brushes his fingers against my hands but it’s already comforting enough. This is how my mother showing his love.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what his condition is. His social awkwardness, his unchanging and repetitive routines, his unusual preoccupations, his huge interest in Barbie—some people may have the same quirks, but it is my mother. He is different. Some people may make all those things as their choices freely, but my mother lives his life as if those choices predetermined for him.

“I’m sorry.” I say between my sobs.

He gives my hand a light squeeze.  

Now I understand all his rules. He has formed all his rules for his life and those rules make him fit into the world. He lives in our world with us. That’s what my father said tonight. His rules maybe aren’t normal but he’s nonetheless found a way to help me grow, to raise me. That’s more than enough.

“I’m sorry.” I say it again. “Cook anything you want, mom. I’ll eat them. I’ll eat anything you cook.” I sniff. “I love you. I love you so much.”

He tugs my hand and gives me a card. It is Barbie ace of hearts card. My mother has his own special way to do anything and it is his way to say I love you, too.

I hug him again and keep mumbling I love yous.

I don’t care about what people think. All I care is my mother. I don’t care if people call me sassy or mushy for playing with Barbie. I don’t care. What’s the problem of collecting Barbies, anyway? Johnny Depp is also a Barbie collector.

I kiss his cheek and it immediately turns red. I love him and I always will. He is my mother. He’s done his best for me. I know that. By knowing and learning about his condition do help make things easier between us.

Now, if you ask me who Lee Sungmin is, I will proudly say ‘He is my mother.’

I wipe my nose, “I know it’s late. But can I join you for one round playing?”

He looks uncertainly at me then glances away. He fiddles his finger before he says, “Okay.”

A/N : Thank you for reading ^^