Despite my love of English writing, we fell head over heels for Robert Munsch. One story, in particular, has stayed with me: a mother who, once her son is asleep, sneaks into his bedroom and watches over him. As the boy grows older, he moves away. His mother leaves his room untouched. Each night, she visits it, holding him in her thoughts, remembering how she once watched over him while he slept.
Christopher came out of his mother’s womb yowling and, somehow, never stopped. During his gestation, we lost our newly built mansion on a hill and all my businesses. The shock and trauma Laura endured seemed to imprint themselves upon Christopher.
From the moment he could speak, Chris was at war with everyone. Each day, Laura and I dreaded collecting him from school. There was always a slew of complaints, regularly punctuated by requests to see the Principal. It didn’t help that Alex, his elder brother by twenty-one months, arrived picture-perfect. He could do no wrong. Alex walked on water.
To me, Alex was a clone of his mother: responsible, organised, and caring. From a very young age, he set goals and achieved them seemingly effortlessly. The Monster—aka Christopher-consistently walked himself into quicksand. Every time we helped him out, he steered himself right back in again. Chris was my mirror. What I disliked about myself, I saw reflected in him, and I wanted desperately to erase our shortcomings. Laura, the archetype of the perfectly loving and forgiving Filipina mother, left me to play the disciplinarian.
Chris resented my constant lecturing and the consequences I handed out, especially as his brother was rarely criticised. Chris believed I was playing favourites. But how could I chastise Alex when, in my memory, he never did anything wrong?
As Chris grew older, we drifted apart. Although he lived at home while attending university, he formed friendships we knew nothing about, widening the wedge between us.
It’s Christmas. Christopher is now thirty and still living with us.
I accompany Laura to the mall. As she searches for presents for the boys, I slip away into the bookshop. Without thinking, I follow a mother with two young children. They stop beside a shelf devoted to Robert Munsch. To my surprise, they pick up a copy of Love You Forever. I do the same— a Christmas present for The Monster.
Munsch’s words echo across the years:
I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living,
my baby you’ll be.
