Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 34
Progress Reports

Wednesday morning arrived with Shannon's usual cheerfulness. "Swimming day! And guess what? Miss Amy said you're ready to move up to the next level!"

Ash looked up from his oatmeal. "Next level?"

"You've mastered all the skills in Tadpoles. Now you're moving to Minnows—the three-to-four-year-old class without parents in the water!" Shannon's voice held pride and something else—maybe a little sadness at him needing her less. "You'll swim with just Miss Amy and the other kids."

No parent in the water. That was... actually a relief. Shannon meant well, but her constant hovering during swim class made it harder to focus.

"Okay."

"I'm so proud of how far you've come. Remember when you wouldn't even put your face in the water? Now look at you!"

It was true. Six months of swimming lessons had transformed Ash from a nervous beginner to someone who could actually swim. His toddler body had taken to water naturally—lighter, more buoyant, with less fear than an adult might have.

At the Y, the pool area was crowded with various classes. Shannon led him to where Miss Amy stood with a group of kids Ash didn't recognize—the older Minnows class.

"Noam! Welcome to Minnows!" Miss Amy high-fived him. "You ready to show me what you can do?"

"I guess."

"Mom, you can watch from the bleachers. Noam will do great." Miss Amy turned to the group. "Okay Minnows, everyone in the water! Let's start with our warm-up laps!"

Laps. They were doing actual laps now.

Ash jumped in—no longer needing to be carried or coaxed—and joined the other kids swimming width-wise across the pool. His arms pulled through the water in an approximation of freestyle, his legs kicking, his face turning to breathe.

Not perfect technique. Still very much a three-year-old's swimming. But functional. Effective.

"Beautiful, Noam!" Miss Amy called. "Nice breathing technique!"

After warm-ups, they practiced different skills. Floating on their backs—Ash could do this easily now, his small body naturally buoyant. Diving for rings at the bottom of the shallow end—he got three out of five. Treading water—still challenging, but he could manage for about thirty seconds.

"Okay, now for the fun part!" Miss Amy pulled out pool noodles. "We're going to practice swimming the full length of the pool with noodles for support. Who wants to go first?"

A girl raised her hand and made it about two-thirds of the way before getting tired. A boy made it three-quarters.

"Noam, your turn!"

Ash grabbed the noodle, positioned it under his arms the way Miss Amy had shown them, and started swimming. Pull, kick, breathe. Pull, kick, breathe. The rhythm that his body had learned over months of practice.

The far wall got closer. His arms were tired but still moving. Almost there...

He touched the wall.

"YES! Noam, you made it the whole way!" Miss Amy was beaming. "That's the first time you've swum the full length! That's amazing!"

From the bleachers, Shannon was clapping enthusiastically, phone out to record the moment.

Ash felt that warm glow of accomplishment again. He'd swum the length of the pool. The whole thing. At three years old.

After class, Miss Amy pulled Shannon aside while Ash dried off.

"He's doing exceptionally well. His water confidence is excellent, his technique is developing nicely, and he's one of the strongest swimmers in Minnows already. I'd like to keep him challenged—maybe start introducing some beginner stroke work, see if he can handle the deeper water with supervision."

"That's wonderful," Shannon said, glowing with maternal pride. "He loves swimming. It's one of his favorite activities."

In the car, Shannon couldn't stop praising him. "The whole length! On your first day in Minnows! Noam, that's incredible. You're becoming such a good swimmer."

"It's not that hard."

"It absolutely is. Most kids your age can barely swim a few feet. You're special, baby." Shannon glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Your daddy is going to be so proud. First the home run, now swimming the full length. Our little athlete!"

That afternoon, Shannon had a meeting at St. Catherine's—parent-teacher conferences for preschool. Ash wasn't required to attend, but Shannon brought him anyway, letting him play in the corner of Mrs. Brennan's classroom with blocks while she and the teacher talked.

Ash built a tower, ostensibly focused on his blocks but actually listening intently to their conversation.

"Noam is doing exceptionally well," Mrs. Brennan said, opening a folder with various papers inside. "Let me show you his progress reports."

She laid out several worksheets—simple activities for preschoolers. Letter tracing, number recognition, basic shape sorting.

"His fine motor skills are excellent. See how controlled his pencil grip is? And his letter formation is very advanced for three. Most kids this age are still just scribbling. He's actually writing recognizable letters."

Ash glanced over. The worksheets did show neat, careful letters. His adult brain knowing how letters should look, his small hands learning to reproduce them.

"His cognitive development is remarkable," Mrs. Brennan continued, lowering her voice slightly. "He's reading at a first-grade level, Shannon. When we do reading circle, he knows all the words before I say them. He's working on math concepts that are typically taught in kindergarten."

"Is that a problem?" Shannon sounded worried. "Should we hold him back somehow?"

"No, not at all. I'm challenging him appropriately within the classroom structure. During free choice time, I give him more advanced books and puzzles. During group activities, I let him help the other children—it's good for his social development and leadership skills." Mrs. Brennan smiled. "He's also very kind with the other children. Patient. Emma adores him, and he's protective of Marcus when the bigger kids get rowdy."

Shannon relaxed. "That's good to hear."

"However," Mrs. Brennan's voice took on a more careful tone, "I do want to note that emotionally, he's still processing a lot. Sometimes during quiet time, I catch him with this look—very far away, very adult. He carries something heavy that the other children don't. That's to be expected given his situation, but I want you to be aware."

"His therapist mentioned the same thing," Shannon said quietly. "Miss Jessica says he's adapting well overall, but there are moments where the adult consciousness shows through."

"Exactly. Most of the time he's engaged and age-appropriate in his behavior. But sometimes..." Mrs. Brennan paused. "Sometimes I can see the twenty-five-year-old looking out through those three-year-old eyes. It's a bit disconcerting, honestly."

Ash kept building his tower, face carefully neutral, but his heart was racing. Mrs. Brennan saw it. Saw him. Saw through the performance to the reality underneath.

"Overall though," Mrs. Brennan continued, "I'm very pleased with his progress. He's one of my best students academically, he's developing social skills appropriately, and he seems to be genuinely enjoying school. I'm recommending him for the advanced track when he moves to Pre-K next year."

She handed Shannon a formal progress report—a card with various skills listed and checkmarks indicating proficiency.

Noam Walsh - Spring Preschool Progress Report

Academic Skills:

• Letter Recognition: ✓ Exceeds Expectations
• Number Recognition: ✓ Exceeds Expectations
• Color/Shape Identification: ✓ Exceeds Expectations
• Following Directions: ✓ Meets Expectations
• Attention Span: ✓ Meets Expectations

Social/Emotional Skills:

• Plays Well With Others: ✓ Meets Expectations
• Shares Toys: ✓ Meets Expectations
• Expresses Feelings Appropriately: ✓ Developing
• Separates From Parent Easily: ✓ Meets Expectations
• Shows Empathy: ✓ Exceeds Expectations

Physical Development:

• Fine Motor Skills: ✓ Exceeds Expectations
• Gross Motor Skills: ✓ Exceeds Expectations
• Self-Care Skills: ✓ Meets Expectations

Teacher Comments: "Noam is a bright, capable student who consistently exceeds academic expectations. He shows remarkable cognitive abilities and excellent motor coordination. Socially, he is kind and patient with classmates, though he sometimes seems to carry adult concerns. He would benefit from continued emotional support as he processes his unique circumstances. I'm pleased with his progress and look forward to watching him grow."

Shannon read the report, her eyes getting misty. "This is wonderful. Thank you so much for working with him, for understanding his situation."

"It's my pleasure. He's a remarkable child." Mrs. Brennan glanced at Ash. "Literally remarkable."

That evening, Patrick came home to Shannon's excited report about both swimming and the school conference.

"He swam the whole length on his first day in the new class! And look at his progress report—exceeds expectations in almost everything!"

Patrick read the report, his expression growing more proud with each line. "This is incredible. Advanced track for Pre-K? That's huge, buddy!"

He scooped Ash up and spun him around. "I've got a little genius athlete! Swimming star, baseball MVP, and the smartest kid in preschool!"

At dinner, they called Claire to share the news. Put her on speakerphone so everyone could hear.

"Advanced track? Noam, that's amazing!" Claire's voice was warm. "I knew you were smart, but exceeds expectations in everything? That's incredible."

"Not everything," Ash mumbled. "Just most things."

"Most things is still amazing!" Claire laughed. "Sophie says good job, Uncle Noam." Baby sounds came through the phone. "Okay, she's not actually saying that, but she's smiling, which is basically the same thing."

After dinner, Shannon put the progress report on the refrigerator with a magnet—displayed proudly like any parent would show off their child's achievements.

Ash stared at it while Shannon did dishes. His name at the top. All those checkmarks. Mrs. Brennan's comments about him being "remarkable."

Evidence of his success as Noam.

Proof that he was doing well, adapting well, excelling even.

"You should be proud," Shannon said, noticing him looking. "You've worked hard at school and at your activities. This report shows how much you've grown."

Grown. Improved. Developed.

All words for adapting. For becoming more Noam and less Ash.

At bedtime, Patrick came in to say goodnight, still beaming about the report.

"I'm so proud of you, buddy. For everything. The swimming, the baseball, the school. You're thriving." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I know this life isn't what you chose. But you're making the most of it. You're finding things you're good at, things you enjoy. That takes real strength."

"Dad?" Ash said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm still... me? Or am I just Noam now?"

Patrick was quiet for a long moment, his expression turning serious.

"I think you're both," he said finally. "You're still you—you still have all your memories, all your knowledge, all your experiences. But you're also Noam—learning and growing and having new experiences. Those things don't cancel each other out. They exist together."

"But what if Noam takes over? What if I forget how to be me?"

"I don't think that's possible. Your core self—the person you are—that doesn't go away." Patrick squeezed his hand. "You're just... adding to it. Building on top of it. Becoming more, not less."

Ash wasn't sure if he believed that. But Patrick seemed to. Seemed to genuinely think that being good at T-ball and swimming and preschool was somehow compatible with still being Ash.

After Patrick left, Ash lay in the dark thinking about the progress report on the fridge. About swimming the full length of the pool. About Mrs. Brennan seeing the adult behind his eyes but praising his progress anyway.

"My name is Ash," he whispered. "I'm twenty-five years old. Today I got a progress report that says I exceed expectations."

He did exceed expectations. That was the problem.

He was supposed to be struggling. Supposed to be obviously an adult trapped in a child's body, miserable and defiant.

Instead he was thriving. Swimming full lengths. Hitting home runs. Getting advanced placement recommendations for Pre-K.

Being the son Patrick had always wanted. The student Mrs. Brennan praised. The athlete Coach Mike called talented.

"I'm good at being Noam," he whispered to the darkness.

And that was terrifying.

Because if he was good at being Noam, what did that mean for being Ash?

Five thousand four hundred and fifty-four days to go.

But today he'd exceeded expectations. Had been called remarkable. Had made everyone proud.

Had been successful at being three years old.

And the progress report on the fridge would stay there for weeks, a constant reminder that he was doing well.

That he was adapting.

That he was thriving.

That he was, despite everything, becoming exactly who his parents wanted him to be.

A bright, athletic, well-adjusted three-year-old named Noam.

Who used to be someone else.

But who was that someone becoming?

He fell asleep not knowing the answer.

And dreamed of swimming through clear water, making perfect strokes, heading toward a distant wall that might or might not exist anymore.

Moving forward because that's what you did when you were in the water.

Even if you couldn't quite remember where you'd been trying to go in the first place.