Truthful Tuesday – the sin of pride

 

“Actually I'm going out to Target today to grab a few things.”
“Grab? I hope you're going to pay for them first. What an odd way to describe a shopping trip, very uncouth.”
“Mmm I hadn't noticed that had slipped into usage around here.”
“So what are you planning to buy?”
“Presents, probably Transformers and a table cloth.”
“That's hardly a trip, two things.”
“Believe me, two things will be a miracle, if we can manage it.”
“Ah you're taking the boys with you then?”
“I am.”
“No-one of has a birthday for ages though?”
“It's for a friend's birthday party, which makes it even more challenging.”
“Really. Why?”
“Because the birthday boy likes the same stuff as my boys, namely Transformers, so I have to buy something that they like for some one else. That's tough for any child.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“You haven't managed to instill generosity into them yet?”
“Actually, they're naturally generous.”
“Doesn't sound like it to me.”
“Well this is a special scenario. Buy your favourite thing and give it to someone else.”
“Hmm. I can't think why you're buying a tablecloth.”
“To cover the table.”
“Don't be fascetious, you know what I mean.”
“Actually I don't really. Why shouldn't I buy another table cloth?”
“Another? Do you mean you already have one?”
“I have lots.”
“Lots? I hope you're not using best linen for every day use?”
“I have one or two that are 'best,' but I have loads that are everyday kind.”
“How extraordinary. You do surprise me.”
“Why is that so surprising?”
“Well, with your lot…….I mean……..what's the point?”
“The point is to slow the spillage. It's like putting a huge towel on the table to minimize the fall out.”
“Ooo dear. How vile. What an unpleasant picture you paint.”
“Really? Isn't that what most people use them for, to minimize the mess, catch the crumbs and spills.”
“Yes, but even so. It's more important as a decorative feature, to dress the table, make it look attractive.”
“Good point. That's a handy by-product.”
“Surely you don't think that they appreciate a beautifully dressed table? Are they that sophisticated?”
“I have no idea, but I'm sure they appreciate not being dosed by a glass of water that spins out of control.”
“Oh dear. You know you forget!”
“I do?”
“Yes. I've seen them eating. In a restaurant…… that time.”
“Oh yes, I had forgotten. So?”
“Well I remember it as clear as day.”
“?”
“Mayhem, absolute mayhem. The whole thing was ghastly enough to give me indigestion.”
“Hmm, it can be a little overwhelming if you're not used to it.”
“I wouldn't care to get used to it.”
“That was over a year ago. We've been practicing since then, every weekend.”
“Practicing? How do you 'practice' going to a restaurant? I've never heard of such a thing.”
“It's just as it sounds.”
“How grueling. It always reminds me of……..”
“What?”
“Oh you know……….”
“Those Chimpanzees and the tea party?”
“No, no, no…..er let me see……stop teasing me I can’t think straight.”
“Clowns throwing cream pies?”
“Stop it! No…..er. I know! The Mad Hatter's Tea party?”
“?”
“You know, everyone constantly on the move and someone falls asleep in the middle of the table.”
“Ah, yes he was emotionally exhausted after trying to eat those fries with the little black flecks on them.”
“Don't remind me. I've never heard a child scream so loudly. So embarrassing. Everyone looking at us as if we'd been sticking pins in him.”
“Were they?”
“Were they what?”
“Were they looking at us?”
“Don't you remember?”
“Not really. I was to busy trying to persuade him to get out from under the table.”
“Oh dear yes. I've never experienced anything like it. What possessed you to choose such a noisy restaurant?”
“Easier to blend in.”
“What? Oh I see what you mean. I just kept quiet.”
“You! Quiet?”
“Yes.”
“Actually you were quite quiet if I remember correctly. Why was that?”
“You know, the truth is, you were so busy with them all and I just wanted to help but I had no idea what to do? I suppose I just don't know them well enough but it made me feel so helpless and useless. I just wanted to ease the situation, calm the chaos but………”
“Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't really notice at the time.”
“You know me. I'm happy to roll my sleeves up and muck in with the rest of you, but I found I was just out of my depth. I've never been in that situation before when everyone is looking at you, mouths open, tut tutting……..it was horrible……….it made me feel quiet tearful and I knew that wouldn't help anyone.”
“Don't worry. It really doesn't bother me much any more.”
“Really?”
“Really. People can think what they think. I can't make anyone think differently from how they do. We'll just keep practicing regardless.”
“Really? Do you really mean that?”
“Yes I do. Actually I'll tell you a secret. A confession if you will. Four years ago it was torture, a marathon but only, or rather partly, because I let myself get upset. I wanted them to be quiet, or quietish, just for an hour whilst we were there. Talk about deluded.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You see by my forties I was already set in my public persona. How to behave. I was just too self conscious, or embarrassed if you will. I was o.k. doing what I do in private without anyone looking, but in public I was too embarrassed to do the things that worked, because I knew they'd look odd, or rather even more odd. Too much of a dent to my dignity.”
“Such as?”
“Well when he dives under the table you can't use the ordinary kinds of discipline that people expect, because they simply don't work. I basically didn't want to get under the table with him, calm him down, perhaps use the Incredible Five Point Scale, practice breathing, perhaps a bit of shoulder massage, all the stuff I'm quite happy to do at home.”
“Blimey.”
“I was making the situation worse. The children expected me to behave in a certain way. I was, and still am, their scaffolding, and in public I just bailed on them. It's no wonder it was all so dreadful, but the 'dreadful' was really all in my own head.”
“Hmm.”
“I basically caved to public opinion. I allowed a bunch of strangers to dictate my own behaviour. I'd be angry that people thought they were just spoilt and badly behaved. It took me a while to realize what I was doing and why I was doing it.”
“Hmm. What then?”
“I just decided to do in public what I was doing at home, the magic of consistency. It wasn't an over-night turn around, but gradually I found we were all moving in the right direction.”
“Geez it takes such a long time.”
“Yes but they say that ‘pride comes before a fall.’ I’d fallen into a huge pit, entirely of my own making.”
“Tough.”
“By the by.”
“What?”
“I don’t think anyone really notices if you dive under the table. Most people are too busy with their own business anyway. With hindsight, I think I must have had a massive ego to think that anyone would have been the least bit interested.”
“Do you know…….now I come to think of it…..apart from that one time with you………I can’t remember when I last saw someone under a table in a restaurant, if ever?”
“Well there you go then!”


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Helpful Interpreter sabotages credibility

One of my chaps suffers from tactile defensiveness. [translation = doesn't like the way things feel for current purposes] Because of this, his Birthday Suit is his favorite. [translation = prefers to live life without the trouble of laundry] He is a very lucky boy, because several people have worn his clothes before he does. This means that they are soft. He is also lucky that he lives in California, where signs on restaurants and other public establishments, give advice to similarly minded people: 'shirt and shoes required.'

It is unfortunate [for us] that he is also hyperlexic. [translation = he can read and understand, more than is common for one of such tender years, for current purposes] Since he is also literally minded, it is difficult to argue with him; “but it dun say nuffink abowt twousers!” This kind of behavior makes a parent hypervigilant too. Turn you back for a moment and all you are left with is a pile of clothes. In the alternative, if luck is on your side, you can play Hansel and Gretel in the Mall, following the trail of clothes, because the hypervigilant, are also speed demons. But I digress.

We bow and leave Karate without the white garb, as this is our first week. [translation = newbies] The bow is his cue, he knows it's all over. As he stands, he arches back, throws his head up to the ceiling and starts screaming his mantra, 'no nuniform! denEYEbee NAY ked,' at fifty decibels. I scoop him up and smile at the other participants. 'Please let the Karate uniforms appear next time' I plead to the great uniform dispenser in the sky. Tears course down his face and I'm grateful that as he wipes his nose on my shoulder, his cries become more muffled. Autism for him, means a certain lack of tolerance, amongst other things. His emotions are off or on, and flit between each extreme without warning. I'm fortunate that his speech delay makes him incomprehensible to the rest of the class.

His sister comes to my side, taking pity on his plight, 'don't worry, they'll be here next week, I'm sure,” she says with more optimism that she probably feels.
A kindly man drifts across to us, as I herd my brood towards the door. “He sure loves class.” I smile non-committally and cup junior's head in closer for the next 'no nuniform! denEYEbee NAY ked,'' I slip my hand over my sons, as he grips the neck of his T-shirt to rip it off. His bottom wriggles, trying to slough off his shorts, a superfluous shedding of snakeskin. “It can be tough for them to transition when they're little,” he adds gently. Fortunately, I am familiar with this kind of American lingo, “yes, he'll be just fine, as soon as I get him out to the car.”

“No nuniform! denEYEbee NAY ked,' continues to come in angry staccato bursts, as he struggles to get his arms out of his threadbare T-shirt. I debate whether it is physically possible to remove all your clothing whilst you're being carried, but I have no personal life experiences to draw upon?

“Yup, he sure is a determined little guy,” he says in the conversational tone of one 'knowing' parent to another, as we step in unison. Senior brings up the rear, but has no words, for which I am grateful. His sister joins in, addresses her little brother in a jovial voice, at just the right pitch to travel well, “you know the rule, you gotta keep em on, nobody here wants to see ya butt naked, that would be inappropriate cos we're not at home.” I swallow hard, feeling my grip tighten on junior's thrashing 52 lbs. The man's face sags, his lips part, I avoid his eyes.

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