My hubs became a fan of “Game of Thrones” long before I eventually jumped onboard. He has viewed every episode since Season One and has analyzed each main plot point via YouTube theory channels, so he is, thus, my go-to advisor on all things “What’s happening here?” and “Who’s family line is this daughter from again?”
It’s a fantastic show, quite a break from the G-rated existence we lead with young children. I rather enjoy the lascivious storylines and high-definition kill effects myself. There is literally little else on television that could display a man’s chest explode out his back and I screech, “Oh God, that’s awesome!”
Amongst many of the historical elements of the show are several prophesies regarding people, living or non. Part of the unmatched appeal of “Game of Thrones” is this created archived universe from the mighty imagination of author George R.R. Martin that includes an entire tree of ancient backstory branches, “called back” often, that connects many of the families and current engagements through love or conflict. The prophesy of “The Prince That Was Promised” is one of those medieval stories with implications and expectations for the present characters. Essentially, a male or female, born under certain circumstances, will save humanity from an impending darkness.
Nothing too heavy. Just a savior of all human cosmos, is all. No pressure.
The identity of this person has changed over time, but prophetesses seem to be honing in on two possible deliverers as the last season of the show approaches certain violent-projected events.
We shall see.
No spoilers here.
The prince prophesy, with its assumptions and its anticipations for the forecasted possessor, can apply to any one person even now who is the only in a unique lineage of merits and fate. My hubs is “The Promised Prince” for his line of descent. The youngest of five siblings, he escaped circumstances and poverty by moving out of his home state and beginning a new life once gun bloodshed hit home. As the oldest girl of my family, I became a pillar of representation, carrying the torch of role model for my siblings as I sought the educational standard mandated by the elder women in our unit. I am a “Princess Promised.” Teehee.
And our son, the eldest of our little family and the only boy, holds a pre-destiny that he will not recognize until older. Right now, though, Jrue has a set of distinguished contingencies that we know will only mold him into the person he was born to be.
Over the last year and some change, we noticed that Jrue was not speaking with much clarity and displayed more frustrated pauses in conversation than where we thought children his age should be. Jrue would repeat anything heard out of context and on the fly. He had head-banged as a baby (deemed “normal” by his doctor at the time), which later gave way to body rocking, not yet ceased 100%. When he went to daycare last year for the first time, it became apparent that his verbal expression was lagging behind, compared to his peers, as he could not immediately voice what he needed or wanted at a given moment. What he was mentally taking in usually popped out later in the form of songs or whole conversations in the intonations and vocal tones of his teacher spoken to another student or vice versa. Jrue would sit in his room, playing and chastising children from his class. Children who I did not know.
We knew something was…different.
We alerted his pediatrician of his tendencies; she suggested doing a speech therapy evaluation. The evaluation confirmed a form of echolalia, but his exact reasoning status confused the therapist: he had full eye contact and satisfying comprehension, but simply just repeated everything. The instance required a further study…and much more money because…insurance.
We discussed Jrue’s progress with his Pre-K teachers and learned that he was often mentally withdrawn from engagement when in groups—he was sweet and cooperative and would go over to the company assembled, but did not necessarily hold reciprocal conversations. I noticed that he seemingly didn’t know what to say when other children greeted him in the mornings. My baby looked to be trapped in a single set of particular scripts for every scenario.
His teachers suggested going to our school system and seeking out alternate testing and available options.
Just last week, after a lengthy but facilitative process, we made the transition steps to send my little boy to our home elementary school for some “specialized training.” He will be treated for Autism Spectrum Disorder and will undergo speech therapy during his school days. We are ecstatic.
Mommy and daddy did not have to pay for a thing. That’s terrific, too.
We are grateful to his teachers for “doing their jobs.” This may sound odd, but they confirmed our suspicions regarding our son’s communicative struggles and had a nonjudgmental solution available. They specifically paid attention to our baby and worked with us to collect data for the therapists. They didn’t have to do any of that. We would not have gotten to this point were it not for their prompts.
This is just a little hump in what will be many for our son. A minor setback is a set up for greatness. As our Jrue fulfills his life’s prophesy, we are sure to recall this time with fondness and warmth: This is when his eminence began. We are getting ready to witness all that is besieged in my son’s head. It’s going to fly out, rescued and liberated and blowing in the wind.
We gotta hang on.