Sometimes I get a little angry. Not at the unjustness of my
child’s sightless fate, not at God nor the Devil, not at the universe. I
get a little angry at random strangers.
Ok, ok… not just a little angry, more like positively demented with boiling, pulsing rage that roars out of the darkest corners of my limbic system and consumes me from within. My dimples morph into a twisted mockery of glee that would have the Joker running for his mama. Every curse word I’ve ever heard burns the inside of my lips and I’m filled with the strength of 20 steroid rabid baseball players. I tremble, a physical sign of the inner battle that is being waged under my scary smile.
My ID’s voice becomes Gollum’s while the tiny part of my superego that has managed to remain calm is Smeagol. Here are 2 examples of those battles:
#1. In the Supermarket when Gabriel was about 1 year old:
Gollum: Wicked! Stupid, strange woman is crying because the Precious is blind! We don’t knows her! We don't likes her!! We hates it, Precious!
Smeagol: No, no, Precious. It doesn’t know what it’s doing, it doesn’t know.
Gollum: We hits it. We hits it and gives it a reason to cry.
Smeagol: No! No, Precious! We can’t hits it. That’s assault, Precious!
We didn’t hits it. We really wanted to though. I wish I could say that a stranger crying over his condition, in front of him, was an isolated incident, but to date, five (yes, five) people have done it. Three Grandmotherly types, one Mother with a newborn and a teenage girl. Seriously, Ladies? Get a grip.
The first time it happened, I was floored. Gabriel was still in his little carrier and a cute little, old lady was trying to catch his eye by smiling and waving. Wearing a beatific smile and halo of silver curls, she was obviously not used to being ignored by stranger’s babies. I’ll admit that her increasingly desperate exercise in futility was amusing to watch, but eventually I took pity on her and said, “He can’t see you.”
Niagara Falls, baby. It was horrendous. I was trapped in the checkout line and couldn’t escape Meemaw, the sobbing maniac. She starts blubbering about how sad it is, and how she doesn’t understand God’s plan. Gabriel was busy trying to aspirate his Gerber rattle phone, completely unaware of the heartstrings he was pulling. I, on the other hand, was thanking my lucky stars that my boy was too small to understand what was happening. I had a funny feeling that it would happen again, so I needed to think up something clever to say in the future.
That future came not so long ago, in another supermarket. It was the teenage girl blubbering about how sad it was for the little blind boy this time and Gabriel grabbed my hand and said, “Mommy, why is that lady sad?” I was ready. 3 years of careful planning and extensive research had made my answer a no brainer. I said, “Because she’s stupid.”
I’m not going to let Gabriel think for one second that it’s even remotely acceptable for people to cry for him. He has many blessings and many gifts. He has a gaggle of people who adore him. He has an awesome life. He just can’t see it. That’s all.
#2. In the park, in New Jersey, last Spring:
Gollum: What’s it doing! Stupid, fat parent! He ruins it! Taking the little boy away, when he was playing so nice with the Precious!
Smeagol: He’s afraid the Precious will get hurt. He’s not knowing what things like this do to the Precious.
Gollum: The Precious and the little boy are both getting upset. We kills it. We kills it now.
Smeagol: No, no, Precious! We can’t kills it, we can’t! We don’ts have the upper body strength to drag the body to the lake, Precious.
To this day, that incident is a source of contention for me. I go over it in my mind sometimes and get angry all over again. But this time the anger is at myself, because I stood by and let it happen. I didn’t open my mouth. I let that man drag his protesting child away, leaving my child alone on the playground, mystified and bummed by the abrupt departure of his new buddy. I had options. I could have tactfully explained that while Gabriel can’t see, his affliction is not contagious and does not prevent him from playing with other kids. I could have suggested that he return to the important matters awaiting him on his Blackberry (like he was before he noticed his kid playing with mine) while I kept my eyes on both kids. I could have let Gollum take over, killed him and called in a few favors to help me clean up.
I did none of those things. I did nothing.
Gabriel didn’t say anything about it right away. I could see the nimble hamster in his head running in circles, though. I knew it was coming. I’m not proud of the following admission, but when he did ask me about it, I took the low road. I thought up a lie and I thought it up quick. I said I’d been watching his friends Daddy just before they left. I said he was on his phone and stood up really fast, like he had somewhere to be in a hurry. I said he probably forgot to go to the bank. Gabriel accepted this without question, because I almost never lie to him.
We went back to the park the next day and Gabriel made friends with two brothers. The boys had awesome parents and we had a lovely chat while watching the boys play. They asked respectful questions about the Precious, shared their cookies and we did not wants to hit them.
In summary, people can be awful, or they can be wonderful. The pain that I’ve shared here is nothing compared to the pain of parents with kids who have serious developmental disabilities and are forced to deal with douchebags on a daily basis while caring for a child who may never be able to care for themselves. Nothing compared to the parents of those children are ill and have to deal with the well meaning but meaningless advice and saccharine sweet sympathy of strangers. Nothing compared to the parents whose children live only in their memories.
My advice to any parent, or guardian, or friend of someone with a disability who experiences something similar is this: If there is a graceful way to tell them they’re an ass, take it. Defend your child, but kindly. If there’s no diplomatic way to defuse the situation then screw it. Say whatever you want to them. Tell them all about themselves. Tell them about their lack of compassion, about their stupid, unjustified fear and prejudice and dumbassedry. Curse them and mock them and brag about how much of a better person you are then them. Do all of this and more….in your head. Do it passionately and do it fast and then get back to your kid. Who really cares about that jerk anyway?
Ok, ok… not just a little angry, more like positively demented with boiling, pulsing rage that roars out of the darkest corners of my limbic system and consumes me from within. My dimples morph into a twisted mockery of glee that would have the Joker running for his mama. Every curse word I’ve ever heard burns the inside of my lips and I’m filled with the strength of 20 steroid rabid baseball players. I tremble, a physical sign of the inner battle that is being waged under my scary smile.
My ID’s voice becomes Gollum’s while the tiny part of my superego that has managed to remain calm is Smeagol. Here are 2 examples of those battles:
#1. In the Supermarket when Gabriel was about 1 year old:
Gollum: Wicked! Stupid, strange woman is crying because the Precious is blind! We don’t knows her! We don't likes her!! We hates it, Precious!
Smeagol: No, no, Precious. It doesn’t know what it’s doing, it doesn’t know.
Gollum: We hits it. We hits it and gives it a reason to cry.
Smeagol: No! No, Precious! We can’t hits it. That’s assault, Precious!
We didn’t hits it. We really wanted to though. I wish I could say that a stranger crying over his condition, in front of him, was an isolated incident, but to date, five (yes, five) people have done it. Three Grandmotherly types, one Mother with a newborn and a teenage girl. Seriously, Ladies? Get a grip.
The first time it happened, I was floored. Gabriel was still in his little carrier and a cute little, old lady was trying to catch his eye by smiling and waving. Wearing a beatific smile and halo of silver curls, she was obviously not used to being ignored by stranger’s babies. I’ll admit that her increasingly desperate exercise in futility was amusing to watch, but eventually I took pity on her and said, “He can’t see you.”
Niagara Falls, baby. It was horrendous. I was trapped in the checkout line and couldn’t escape Meemaw, the sobbing maniac. She starts blubbering about how sad it is, and how she doesn’t understand God’s plan. Gabriel was busy trying to aspirate his Gerber rattle phone, completely unaware of the heartstrings he was pulling. I, on the other hand, was thanking my lucky stars that my boy was too small to understand what was happening. I had a funny feeling that it would happen again, so I needed to think up something clever to say in the future.
That future came not so long ago, in another supermarket. It was the teenage girl blubbering about how sad it was for the little blind boy this time and Gabriel grabbed my hand and said, “Mommy, why is that lady sad?” I was ready. 3 years of careful planning and extensive research had made my answer a no brainer. I said, “Because she’s stupid.”
I’m not going to let Gabriel think for one second that it’s even remotely acceptable for people to cry for him. He has many blessings and many gifts. He has a gaggle of people who adore him. He has an awesome life. He just can’t see it. That’s all.
#2. In the park, in New Jersey, last Spring:
Gollum: What’s it doing! Stupid, fat parent! He ruins it! Taking the little boy away, when he was playing so nice with the Precious!
Smeagol: He’s afraid the Precious will get hurt. He’s not knowing what things like this do to the Precious.
Gollum: The Precious and the little boy are both getting upset. We kills it. We kills it now.
Smeagol: No, no, Precious! We can’t kills it, we can’t! We don’ts have the upper body strength to drag the body to the lake, Precious.
To this day, that incident is a source of contention for me. I go over it in my mind sometimes and get angry all over again. But this time the anger is at myself, because I stood by and let it happen. I didn’t open my mouth. I let that man drag his protesting child away, leaving my child alone on the playground, mystified and bummed by the abrupt departure of his new buddy. I had options. I could have tactfully explained that while Gabriel can’t see, his affliction is not contagious and does not prevent him from playing with other kids. I could have suggested that he return to the important matters awaiting him on his Blackberry (like he was before he noticed his kid playing with mine) while I kept my eyes on both kids. I could have let Gollum take over, killed him and called in a few favors to help me clean up.
I did none of those things. I did nothing.
Gabriel didn’t say anything about it right away. I could see the nimble hamster in his head running in circles, though. I knew it was coming. I’m not proud of the following admission, but when he did ask me about it, I took the low road. I thought up a lie and I thought it up quick. I said I’d been watching his friends Daddy just before they left. I said he was on his phone and stood up really fast, like he had somewhere to be in a hurry. I said he probably forgot to go to the bank. Gabriel accepted this without question, because I almost never lie to him.
We went back to the park the next day and Gabriel made friends with two brothers. The boys had awesome parents and we had a lovely chat while watching the boys play. They asked respectful questions about the Precious, shared their cookies and we did not wants to hit them.
In summary, people can be awful, or they can be wonderful. The pain that I’ve shared here is nothing compared to the pain of parents with kids who have serious developmental disabilities and are forced to deal with douchebags on a daily basis while caring for a child who may never be able to care for themselves. Nothing compared to the parents of those children are ill and have to deal with the well meaning but meaningless advice and saccharine sweet sympathy of strangers. Nothing compared to the parents whose children live only in their memories.
My advice to any parent, or guardian, or friend of someone with a disability who experiences something similar is this: If there is a graceful way to tell them they’re an ass, take it. Defend your child, but kindly. If there’s no diplomatic way to defuse the situation then screw it. Say whatever you want to them. Tell them all about themselves. Tell them about their lack of compassion, about their stupid, unjustified fear and prejudice and dumbassedry. Curse them and mock them and brag about how much of a better person you are then them. Do all of this and more….in your head. Do it passionately and do it fast and then get back to your kid. Who really cares about that jerk anyway?
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