I'm The One Curled Up In The Fetal Position In The Corner Of The Bubble

A couple weeks ago I got a phone call from a fellow Deaf kid Mommy, the Mommy of Owen's sole second grade classmate. 

She'd heard through the vine of Deaf Kid Mommy grapes that their school's bubble was moving.  That so and so heard from this person that this other person said that the bubble's contract with the current school had run out and they needed to relocate.

This Mommy was mad.  Angry bee.  Momma bear.  Her rage came shooting out in powerful bursts that caused me to hold my phone out at arms length.  It zapped.  And stung.

I thanked her for the info and hung up as quickly as I could.  Me.  Not being able to match her ire.  Who knew?

Well.  I was sad.  Though it would be a week or so before it was confirmed, I knew then that her information was correct.   Because it was something I didn't want to be true right down to my toenails - I knew it had to be.

And it is. Owen's bubble is moving. 

Yeah yeah yeah, all the same teachers, same Deaf kid classmates; but at a new school.  In a much bigger town.  Almost an hour away from home.

Why couldn't I be mad? 

Because I was too busy being sad.  That Owen had finally made friends with a few Hearing kids, and he'd never see them again.  That his commute to school will now see him on a bus three hours a day.  That his life will be just a smidge harder than it already is.

But.  Those bootstraps have some life left in them yet.  And with a grunt or two, I hoisted myself up.  And I started to look outside the bubble.

Ok.  I'll get him involved in some local activities.  Throw him in with some local Hearing kids.  Round him out a bit.  Give him more exposure to the Hearing world.

I was feeling maybe not good, but more than ok about this coming year.

So when we hit the playground today, at the elementary school around the corner from our house, the school which Bea will attend, and Owen will not, and I saw that there were some kids there, I was happy and clapped and pointed out to Owen;

"See!  Kids!"

And he was happy.  He saw that one of them had a similar superhero shirt on.

And he ran up to them and introduced himself, with such confidence;

"I'm Owen."

And they looked at him like he had a penis growing out of his forehead.

I explained;

"He doesn't hear very well.  Feel free to speak loudly.  Tap him on the shoulder to get his attention.  How old are you?"

The both responded;  "Seven!".

Owen was thrilled, signing/saying;

"Seven!  Me!  Same!"

"See?  He'll even teach you some sign!"

The pair shrugged, gave me a look that made me check my forehead for a penis, and ran off into the woods.  Owen pranced after them.

Thinking the best of these kids, I let them be kids and strolled away with Bea.

Not many minutes passed.  The boys and Owen were at the top of the slide, their little sisters, five years old I'd say, had joined them;

Little Bitches:  "Why does he talk funny?"

Little Dicks:    "I don't know."

Little Bitches:  "Let's get away from him!!"

Little Dicks:     "Yeah!"

And they did. They ran away.  And Owen didn't get it. He chased after them, thinking it was part of the game.

For the next twenty minutes or so, that is how it went.  Owen and these shits running around, Owen thinking he was part of the gang, not the butt of the joke as the little shits ran up to him;

"We're not your friend!"

"We don't want to play with you."

"Why do you act like that?"

I intervened here and there, knowing that Owen was clueless but wanting the kids to have a little understanding.  It didn't help.

And their Mommies sat at the picnic table chatting away, oblivious to their their children's asshoolery.

Not that I really blame the kids.  They were just being kids.  And kids are fuckers.

Of course I was relieved when it was time for the fuckers to leave.  Of course Owen was sad to see his 'friends' go.

Sitting at the picnic table;

Owen:  "My friends.  They going home."

Me:    "You like those boys?  They nice to you?"

Owen:  "Yeah."

Me:   "You hear those boys?  You hear them talking to you?"

Owen:  "No."

Me:  "I didn't like those boys."

Owen:  "Why you crying Mommy?"

Me:  "Those boys were dickheads sweetie."

Owen:  "Huh?"