Ned was born right on time with no complications but quickly developed several. Sitting in the NICU unit of St. Mary’s Hospital rocking her eight day old son Wallis wondered if she was at long last in over her head.
He had trouble breathing which made the doctors wonder about asthma, which cleared up on its own, and then there was a mention of a possible kidney problem, but that disappeared as well. A rash that crept from his belly to his chest made them wonder what it meant but it slowly faded and the skin returned to a perfect alabaster that reminded Wallis of Norman.
The doctors had said as an afterthought that there might be a possibility of learning disabilities down the road because of the complications. Wallis made a mental note not to worry about it and took her son home, grateful to be out of the hospital and away from everyone else’s decisions about what was best for Ned.
Ned did turn out to be a special child, but in the opposite direction. He was reading in preschool and quickly took to asking complicated questions, particularly when Wallis was driving in heavy traffic. By first grade he was taking apart anything he could pry open, laying out the pieces in an orderly fashion and then putting them back together, sometimes improving the appliance.
By third grade Wallis was even letting him fix the occasional small appliance for a neighbor, giving out her usual warning that he was just a kid and if it still didn’t work, or didn’t work in a new way, there were to be no complaints or even comments. So far, though Ned’s record was perfect.
His room was a study in mindful chaos. K’nex wheels and joints were laid out on the floor next to Star Wars models Ned had built and added onto from generic kits he bought at the local hobby shop he hung out at on West Cary Street.
Next to Ned’s bed was an old TV stand he had fixed and added onto with wheels and an extra shelf. The bottom shelf had his collection of baseball cards Norman had passed down to him plus the ones Ned had added, and a large notebook filled with Magic game cards of elaborately drawn figures that were ordered according to their usefulness in a battle. The middle shelf was devoted to science fiction paperbacks, magazines on the latest computer updates and an army of War Hammer 40K figurines that Ned had carefully painted in an army green and blue with an occasional dab of red for a bloody wound. Piled in a corner of the shelf was a large assortment of dice. Ned usually spent Wednesday evenings in friendly games of Magic or War Hammer at the hobby shop, played out on long tables set up by the owner with mostly high school kids and middle-aged men in variations of striped polo shirts and Cargo pants.
The top shelf had the guts of the latest appliance he was working on with a small notebook next to it where Ned kept notes on what he discovered and ideas he had for improvements. Wallis had asked Ned if she could look through the notebook and he had shrugged and said okay in a way that made Wallis think Ned was pretty sure most of it would go right over her head. He was right and Wallis knew that before she even picked it up. She was really looking for a glimpse into the way Ned figured things out and came away with something close to awe.
“You realize the rest of us can’t do this sort of thing,” she had told him, as she flipped over another page.
“I’ve noticed,” he answered, in the same sort of way Norman might have, making Wallis smile at the similarities in father and son.
Ned even had the same kind of tell as Norman, running his fingers through the back of his thick brown hair when he was puzzling over a problem or on the threshold of a new idea.
The two Weiskopf men also liked to cook together and Ned was the only person allowed to use Norman’s pots, under Norman’s supervision, which meant while he was in the room. Norman wasn’t worried about Ned dropping a pot. They were both too calculated in their moves for that kind of accident. He was more concerned with Ned using one in an experiment just to find out how durable a Teflon coating really was or attempting to slowly melt a Space Marine down so it would look more horrible and disfigured in battle than it already did. Ned had already tried that with the microwave when he was younger sending out a shower of sparks from the small metal figurine. Wallis had heard the ‘ssspppft’ sound from the living room and came running to find Ned calmly watching the small beast spin inside the dying microwave. Ned later rewired the appliance and calmly explained to Wallis that he had known what he was doing all along. Wallis looked down at her then-seven year old’s placid face and wondered if that was possibly true.
“I’d prefer you don’t do anything that causes fire or electrical sparks until further notice,” she told him.
“Okay,” he had shrugged, with an arched eyebrow he reserved for when he thought adults were overreacting.