Much of eighth grader Max’s story has to do with what happens in his present over the course of his yearlong friendship with Freak, a boy who’s suffering from a rare illness called Morquio syndrome. But underlying Max’s story is the idea that memory—and specifically, traumatic memories—dictate the course of Max’s life prior to Freak’s death. Max retrospectively narrates the novel a year after Freak death, telling his story as he comes to grips with memories of his parents and of Freak. Through this, the novel suggests that remembering is, on the whole, one of the most effective ways to deal with grief and trauma.
Though Max opens his story with a recollection of what Freak was like (and what he himself was like) when they were both in preschool, Max makes it very clear that by the time he reconnects with Freak about a decade later, he’s forgotten many things from the past. He doesn’t let on until much later that this was very purposeful on his part, given the trauma he experienced as a young kid. Max’s memories of preschool revolve around earning the nickname “Kicker” for kicking and behaving violently toward everyone in his vicinity, as well as observing that young Freak looked “sort of fierce.” At first, the fact that Max was known for a time as Kicker seems to support his grandfather’s fear that Max is actually a violent kid—however, when Max later puts his preschool years in context for the reader, his violent actions make much more sense. Max went to preschool just after his grandparents Grim and Gram took over caring for him, and while Max doesn’t say so when he recounts his memories of preschool, he later lets on that he lives with Grim and Gram because his father, Kenny, murdered Max’s mother, Annie, right in front of Max. Max’s violence—along with his later choice to simply forget that he was ever Kicker and the reasons why he assumed that persona—is a defense mechanism that allows Max to move on with his life and become the reasonably functional preteen he is when the reader first meets him.
This suggests that for Max, memory isn’t something positive: most of his major memories are extremely painful, and remembering what his father did forces Max to confront what people think he’s going to be like. Max also experiences occasional tantrums that resemble panic attacks when confronted with anything to do with his father—which, disconcertingly, he never remembers after the fact. However, as Max reconnects with Freak and they get closer to each other, Freak introduces Max to a new way of thinking about memory: he suggests that “remembering is a great invention of the mind, and if you try hard enough you can remember anything, whether it really happened or not.” That is, people can choose which memories to focus on, reframe unpleasant experiences in new ways, or even create imaginary memories as a way to cope with and make sense of the past. This piece of wisdom appears at several points throughout the novel. As the novel is narrated (and written as if authored) by Max, this suggests that Freak’s way of framing memory gives Max control over his memories for the first time. For the first time, Max can amplify the memories that make him feel happy and in control—such as those that have to do with Freak and their adventures—and gloss over or minimize anything that has to do with Kenny or other uncomfortable topics.
Further, the act of writing his and Freak’s story and remembering all of their adventures (or making them up—per Freak’s assessment of memory, it’s impossible to verify what, if anything, actually happened) helps Max to heal from the trauma of both losing his best friend and the trauma connected to his mother’s murder. Though Max the narrator is still dismissive of his younger self’s intellectual abilities and general competence, Max the narrator is clearly far more confident and in a much healthier and more stable place than he used to be. This transformation has to do not just with the positive effects that Freak had on Max’s life, but with Max’s ability to finally make sense of his memories. Remembering his grief and trauma, in other words, gives Max a way to move forward with his life, and hopefully to remember that he is capable of dealing with his memories—no matter how unpleasant—in a healthy, meaningful way.
Memory, Grief, and Trauma ThemeTracker
Memory, Grief, and Trauma Quotes in Freak the Mighty
It’s more than just the way Maxwell resembles him, Grim says that night in the kitchen, the boy is like him, we’d better watch out, you never know what he might do while we’re sleeping. Like his father did. And Gram right away shushes him and says don’t ever say that, because little pictures have big ears, which makes me run to the mirror to see if it is my big ears made me look like Him.
It’s real easy, he doesn’t weigh much and I’m pretty sure I remember looking back and seeing him up in the wagon happy as can be, like he’s really enjoying the ride and not embarrassed to have me pulling him around.
But like Freak says later in this book, you can remember anything, whether it happened or not.
I go, “Thanks for the towel, Gram. And the ice cream. Could I have sugar in the coffee? Two teaspoons, please,” and Grim claps his hands together and he says, “Of course you can, son,” and it’s like woah! because he never calls me that. Always Max or Maxwell or “that boy.”
“And carrying poor Kevin around, that seems to be putting real muscle on you.”
“He’s not that heavy. And anyhow it’s not fair everybody always says ‘Poor Kevin,’ just because he didn’t grow.”
Grim gives me this long, sorrowful look and then he clears his throat and says, “You’re right, he is a rather remarkable boy.”
[...] all I can think is they’re going to put me back in the learning disabled class. I’ve already decided I’ll run away if they do that [...] Anyhow, I don’t take Freak’s dictionary along because my hands are trembly and I might drop it, or Mrs. Addison might ask me a word and I’ll forget how to look it up and prove I’m still a butthead goon.
“It’s not me who had quite a day,” I say. “Kevin is the one. All he did was try and eat his lunch.”
Mrs. Addison gives me this look, and then she goes, “You’re going to be okay, Maxwell Kane. I’m sure of it now.”
She’s okay for a principal, but for some reason I still can’t make her understand that it’s not me who had a really bad Friday the Thirteenth.
Gram says, “How can you tell such lies on Christmas Eve?”
“I’m telling tales, my dear, not lies. Lies are mean things, and tales are meant to entertain.”
The quiet is almost as big as he is. He’s as tall as me, only wider everywhere, and for some reason, maybe because we’re not far from Freak’s house, I’m thinking this weird thought: He doesn’t need a suit of armor.
It’s like I’m trapped underwater or something, so weak and floaty I can’t hardly fight him, can’t pry his fingers loose from my mother’s neck. From Loretta’s neck. Because everything is mixed up and he’s doing the same thing to Loretta Lee he did to my mom, choking the life out of her, and he’s got that same cold killer look because he wants her to die, like he wanted Mom to die, and nothing else matters what he wants.
“First you need to invent a time machine,” I say. “So you can go back there and give all the cavemen a hard time about indoor plumbing.”
Freak goes, “You don’t need a time machine if you know how to remember.”
Which is something I’ll always remember, him saying that and me trying to figure it out.
“Don’t get me upset,” he warns. “I won’t have the time, so you’ll have to do it. Just write it all down like you’re talking. Put in all the fun we had, the cool things we did. Our adventures.”
“But you know I can’t write, Kevin.”
“It’s all in your head, Max, everything you can remember. Just tell the story of Freak the Mighty, no big deal.”
“I don’t think it was a lie, Maxwell, do you? I think he needed something to hope for and so he invented this rather remarkable fantasy you describe. Everybody needs something to hope for. Don’t call it a lie. Kevin wasn’t a liar.”
So I wrote the unvanquished truth stuff down and then kept on going, for months and months, until it was spring again, and the world was really and truly green all over. By the time we got here, which I guess should be the end, I’m feeling okay about remembering things.