Dad, what’s a martyr?”
The question every parent dreads to hear, but is eventually asked. Children everywhere, start life oblivious to the fact that martyrs even exist, then one day hear about it from a friend or relative. Maybe a comment on the television sparks the curiosity. Whatever the cause, it is a question that, once posed, must be answered. The most common way to answer is the up front and direct answer. Dr. Hutchinson, however, chooses to divert attention away from the question, and use it to pursue his own agenda. What other option does any typical American parent really have anyway?
“I’ll tell you what a martyr is. A martyr is someone who doesn’t clean her room. During World War 2, Nazis would drag nuns into the street, force water down their throats until they became bloated, and then began to jump on their stomachs, bursting their intestines. Now stop asking silly questions and finish cleaning your room.”
These words, when said in a strikingly monotone voice, can at once impart fear and obedience into the young daughter of Dr. Hutchinson. At they same time, there is the possibility of the birth of curiosity. A curiosity so profound as to change the direction of a young girl’s life. To some children, a promising lifetime of roses and hairpieces would have just been traded for depression and darkness. Fortunately, however, we are dealing with young Maria. Young Maria Hutchinson. Sister of Ryan Hutchinson. Daughter of Dr. Jerry “Boe” Hutchinson and his wife Mona “Zoe” Hutchinson.
Fortunately, this story, as interesting as it could be, will not deal with the young Maria Hutchinson, or her father, or mother. Neither shall this story deal with her brother Ryan, though quite a character he would make! No, this story deals with something bigger. A mission perhaps. But what would this mission be? Oh, we are forced to use the cop-out saying, “Only time will tell,” for only young Maria knows this mission. And yet, young Maria Hutchinson isn’t speaking. Young Maria does not have a tongue.
“But Dad, I cleaned my room just ten minutes ago,” complained Ryan. “Maria is the one sneaking in behind me messing it up. She’s always in there playing with my socks and messing with my computer. Yesterday I caught her in my underwear drawer! Why do I always get blamed for her mistakes? She’s always getting away with stuff just because she doesn’t have a tongue. I just can’t take it any more!”
With that our esteemed hero Ryan stands up and exits the house. Through the backdoor he goes. When we think about it, it is truly odd the way houses are made, with both a front door and a backdoor and most times even a side door. The front door is rarely ever used except in the cases of acquaintances, strangers, and salespersons. It seems all those who belong in a house enter through the back or side, almost as if they are avoiding detection. It’s as if they want to deny that they own the place but still have the comforts of ownership.
We can learn allot about a man from the way he treats his dog.
“Is that true Maria?”
The girl silently nods her head. She isn’t ashamed. She rightly owns up to what she’s done. It’s her God-given right to mess up her older brother’s room. What else is a tongueless little sister good for?
Dr. Hutchinson stares at his mute child. “You won’t taste a bit of this Thanksgiving dinner until you clean your brother’s room.”
The girl, now depressed but still unashamed, rises from her seat and faces the hall. Down the hallway is the tall white door that leads to her brother Ryan’s room. The only thing that lies in the way of young Maria and the door of punishment is the unmoving body lying on the floor. Young Maria stands over the body and looks at it. She turns and sees the disappointed look in her mother’s eyes and the stern look of her father’s face. She then proceeds to step over her sleeping sister Kelly and walks down the hall which seems to grow longer with each step. To her right is the room where she spent many nights herself asleep. She sees her pink bed, surrounded by a mosquito net. Her dolls lay on the floor next to her own socks, shoes, shorts, and shirts. Next to those lay dollar bills and her favorite hat. She reaches for her favorite hat - her brother’s FTLs - and continues to his room. She then glances to her left and sees another room she is all too familiar with. The bathroom.
Now she looks up, and in front of her, the tall white door. It mammoths over her. She is at once intimidated by its size. She never was afraid before, but now the embarrassment of the circumstances began to embrace her. She swallowed her pride and opened the door. Her eyes where at once wide with astonishment. Her mouth fell open. Her tongue, had it existed, would be gaping.
Janice, her twelve-year-old sister who was eight years her younger, sat on Ryan’s bed, his underwear on head. Six-year-old Christy sat next to her, the same headwear in place. Maria’s shock turned into a smile. It was another Hutchinson Thanksgiving, done only in Hutchinson style.