Before I got ready for bed, I went to Harry's room to check on him. He was still sound asleep. I felt his forehead for myself, to make sure he wasn't running a fever. He was sleeping very, very deeply, I could hardly hear him breathing. In a moment of panic, I felt for his carotid pulse and it was very slow but strong. Still I was a little worried.

"Harry," I said, shaking his shoulder. "Harry, wake up."

He finally groaned and opened his eyes groggily. "Hi Nanny Jules. You're back." An enormous smile crossed his sleepy face.

"Yes, Harry. I just wanted to let you know I was back and I had a nice time. I brought some things back for you, too."

"Can I see them?" He asked and then promptly yawned loud and large.

"Not yet, sweetie. You go back to sleep and I'll show you in the morning, okay?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "Nanny Jules, will you sleep next to me for a little bit? I missed you."

"Sure, Harry," I said, climbing on his bed and rubbing his back until he fell back to sleep.

I was slightly alarmed at how fast I was becoming attached to this young man. I had always developed a fondness for the kids I worked with. It was easy to do. But I felt such compassion for Harry in particular, combined with love and affection, as well as a pretty strong sense of protectiveness. I almost wondered if this was what it felt like to be a parent. Well, a normal parent at least, a mother who would do anything to help her child succeed versus a father who didn't seem to care for his kid one bit. How would I ever leave him at the end of a year?

Harry awoke before me the next morning. He lingered in my doorway and somehow I could sense he was there. I opened my eyes and grinned widely. "Hey you, I missed you yesterday."

"You did?" He asked, happily grinning.

"I did." He was actually bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. "Do you want to come in?"

"Can I?" He asked, cautiously looking around.

"Sure," I sat up and threw the covers back, welcoming him into a big hug when he sat down.

"I missed you, too, Nanny Jules," he said, still hugging me. His voice was muffled by my hair. "You said you bringed me a surprise?" He asked and I giggled.

"Brought," I corrected him. "I brought you a surprise. Bringed isn't a word."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, pulling away from the hug.

"Oh, Harry, there's no need to be sorry. I just figured that since I'm finding out how smart you are, I want to make sure you learn to speak and write well. It doesn't mean you're in trouble and it doesn't mean you've done anything wrong. It just means that you haven't learned the right way to do some things yet. Is that okay?"

"Yes, Nanny Jules. Yes, that's okay." I smiled at the sweet attitude he always displayed. "All right, well, why don't you go out to the kitchen table and I will bring out one of the surprises."

He nodded and jogged off down the hallway.

I pulled out the Eric Carle books and the watercolor paint materials. As I walked up behind Harry, I said, "Close your eyes." He covered them with his hands and I set the books in front of him. "Now open them," I said softly.

He opened his eyes and gasped at the pile of colorful books. "Oh, these are beautiful," he said reverently.

"They are all for you," I told him and he jumped up, knocking his chair over and grabbing me in a very clumsy hug.

"There's more, Harry," I said, showing him the paint set. I took a glass and filled it with water and set it next to the paints. "Have you ever used water color paints?"

"Nope," He said, popping the p at the end of the word.

I showed him how to dip the brush in water and wet the paints and then to make gentle swirls around the paper. "The books I bought have lots of cool artwork in them. They're not made with watercolors like this, but it looks similar. Maybe one day, we can learn how the illustrator does it and we can do that, too, but for now, we can use watercolor."

Harry started swirling colors together on the paper and making small flowers with green stems and green leaves.

"Those are really good," I praised him. "Well done, Harry."

He blushed in satisfaction. I picked up a paint brush and started creating my own picture with the paints. We painted for a long while, until Harry said he was hungry. He kept painting while I made some scrambled eggs and toast. I added a bit of fresh pineapple that I had picked up at the market the day before.

"Mmm, I love pineapple," he said when I placed the plate in front of him.

"I'm happy to hear that," I said. "How about we take the books out onto the patio after breakfast and read out there? It's such a nice sunny day."

"Yes, I'd like that very much," he said.

We sat and enjoyed the sunshine until well in the afternoon, reading every single book that I'd bought for him. Around 1:00, we went inside for lunch and I brought out the chocolates I had found at the Kids' Market. "There are a bunch of different flavors. We can try a few each day. And then let's make a chart keeping track of which ones we like so the next time I go shopping, I can get more, okay?"

"Can I go with you next time?" He asked.

Now that was the million dollar question, wasn't it?

"I...I'm not sure, Harry. I'd have to ask Theodore about it. But either way, I promise to get more chocolates when I go again."

"Okay," he said happily. "Can we make the chart with my new paints?"

"Of course."

The rest of the afternoon was spent painting, reading, sampling chocolates and watching his very first Disney movie (to my knowledge anyway). I chose Aladdin, since it was one of my favorites. I rented it online and we watched on my laptop since I had my own wifi hotspot and I didn't have to rely on the heavily blocked computers in the learning room.

Harry absolutely loved it. There were times when he hummed along with the music, either anticipating the progression or repeating what he had already heard. His eyes were glued to the screen the entire time and when it was finished, he had absorbed a lot of the actual story.

"It's not fair when dads tell their kids they can't do something," he said bluntly. "I'm glad that Jasmine's dad did the right thing at the end."

I was shocked. Was he responding to the movie or was he resonating with it, knowing his own father was awfully unfair?

"Sometimes parents make decisions for their kids because they can't do it on their own yet. And sometimes they make decisions to keep their kids safe," I told him. "But parents make mistakes - everyone does. When kids grow up, though, they learn more and more how to make good decisions so that they can keep themselves safe."

"Do you think I can do that?" Harry asked, becoming quiet and pensive.

"What? Make your own decisions?" He nodded. "I think you are very wise and that you can easily learn how to take care of yourself."

He thought for a moment longer and then shyly asked, "Will I ever have a match banquet?"

"What?" I stumbled. "I don't know what you mean."

"That book I read," he said. "Matched. It says that when you're seventeen, you find out who your match is. And then you find out what kind of work you do."

I thought back to the book for a moment, summoning the knowledge I had stored away from reading it years ago. In the book, every member of the perfect Society is matched with someone else when they are both seventeen. The Society goes to great lengths to create ideal matches to assure that their marriage and family will be as healthy as possible. The Society also determines which job people will do, based on their skills, and which books, art, and literature are to be enjoyed by their people.

"Harry, that's a fictional book. Do you know what fiction is?" I asked. He shook his head no. "Fiction is made up. It's not real. That book is pretend and things don't work like that in real life." He still looked at me for further explanation. "When you read The Magic School Bus, you knew those things couldn't happen in real life, right?"

"Right," he nodded. "Like a school bus can't go into somebody's body, right?"

"Right," I encouraged him. "So that's fiction, too. Sometimes, you can read realistic fiction, meaning it seems like something that can happen in real life. Junie B. Jones is mostly realistic fiction. She's not a real girl, but some of the things she does can really happen. Someone made up the story of Junie B. Jones, meaning she's not real and that makes the story fiction."

"Oh...okay," he said, still processing the information I was giving him.

"And the movie we just watched, Aladdin. Do you think that could happen in real life?"

"No," he said shaking his head.

"Okay, so do you understand? Fiction is about things that either can't happen or didn't really happen in real life. Some of what happened in Matched seems real, but other things aren't real, like the air trains they use for transportation. Then other things could maybe possibly happen if a very strict government decided to tell their people that they could only do things the government's way. But people wouldn't like it very much." 

"Why? Is that bad?" Harry asked.

"It is," I explained, "because every single person has their own special ideas about everything - what they eat, what they wear, what job they want to do, who they want to be friends with and who they fall in love with. It's not fair for any government to take those choices away from people."

His eyes were wide with understanding. "So none of those books on the high shelves are real?"

"I haven't looked at all of them yet so I don't know for sure," I told him.

"Oh, I thought that maybe because they were for older people that they were all things you need to know to be growed up."

"You mean grown up," I gently said and he nodded. I was fascinated by his thought process. It was actually a mature way to look at things and to try to understand his little world.

"Nanny Jules," he said quietly some time later.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a match?"

"You mean a boyfriend? Or a husband? No, I don't have someone special like that. In real life, it's a lot different than in Matched. People decide to date and have boyfriends and girlfriends at all different ages. I'm only twenty three, so I have a lot of time to find a boyfriend or a husband."

"So you don't have to do it at a certain age?" Harry asked to clarify.

"No, and I don't have to be with someone who is exactly my age either. I can be with someone older or younger if I want to."

"That's nice," he said. He hesitated for a while but I could tell he had something on his mind. Finally, he asked softly. "Do you think I'll ever find someone who is my match?"

I was stunned. Charlie was right, there had to be something instinctive inside of him, telling him he was getting older and more capable of having such a relationship. On the other hand, his own family life and upbringing was so dysfunctional, I wondered how could even perceive of a loving, trusting relationship.

I was finding the task before me to be overwhelming. I believed with all my heart that Harry could learn a lot more academically than he had already, and I also felt that it was time for him to "grow up." He knew it somewhere inside of himself; he felt it, the urge to be something more. I don't know if kids with an intellectual disability normally felt that. I supposed it was different for each case and each part of the brain affected. Something in my gut just knew that there was a more mature, stronger, intelligent boy, almost man, inside of him and I wanted to help him to find himself. 

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Part 2 of a Double Update! Thanks so much for reading, voting, commenting and sharing! <3