I didn't want to see Yogi Bear.
But he practiced all week. Deep breathing while my fingers counted to ten. Not crying. Sitting still.
And letting the doctor get the "dunk out" of his ears. The quarterly ear wax removal that would not hurt, would not send rivulets of blood trickling down his cheek if Owen would just get over his fear of the big drawer of long pointy things, and allow the poor doctor to gently pull the wax out.
And he did. He sat still. A little whimper. Barely a squirm. But no tears. No flailing.
The practice worked. The Ativan slipped into his breakfast banana bread may have helped a little.
But he did it.
Dr. W., so proud, telling the whole office what a great job he'd done, earning Owen a stuffed animal, and one for Bea too, as the receptionist was so touched that he'd asked for one for his little sister.
His Audiologist happened by, and mentioned scheduling a hearing test in the next few weeks or; "How about right now?".
Owen loves the 'Hear It Game' and leads the way to the sound proof booth.
No change in his hearing. He's still Deaf.
Remembering the deal we'd made, he bounds out of the office talking mostly to himself;
"Not cry right Sweetie! Hold still and get the dunk out! Dunk out finish? Go see movie! Go see movie right Mom? Yogi Bear right?"
"Right. Movie. Go now."
We get to the theater way early. Purchase tickets, obtain headphones, and spend a half hour in the lobby looking at all the giant movie posters and displays, speculating on which would be funny, scary, for kids, not for kids.
A couple kids show up with their Daddy, and head into the theater. Owen skips along right behind them into the darkness, clutching his bag of Reece's treasure.
His seating of choice in the otherwise empty theater is directly behind these kids. He doesn't try to interact with them, but, I know for him, the nearness to them is important.
As the seats fill up, those beside us and behind us are occupied with more kids, much to the delight of Owen who beams his big smile from face to face, as if it is his responsibility to welcome each child to this day's movie experience.
When the experience finally does start, I turn on the headphones, note the crappy staticy sound, and place them on Owen's head. He promptly takes them off.
The kids behind us whisper questions as to why 'that kid' gets to wear headphones.
Owen watches the movie for a few minutes. I watch Owen.
And I turn around several times as the kids behind us won't stop talking. Their Daddy scolds them for kicking my seat, which was in fact annoying as Hell, but my death glares are aimed at their mouths, not their feet.
The sound system in this theater sucks. Not loud enough for Owen. Any sound interference is going to impact how much of the movie he hears.
He tries the headphones again.
He hands them back to me.
He signs; 'Home'.
I grab our stuff and lead him out of the theater.
I'm sad for him. And am barely holding it together as I reach the counter and hand the headphones to the girl who had given them to me.
Her bottom lip pops out in sympathy as I tell her that he couldn't hear the movie, even with the headphones. Owen is behind me, talking mostly to himself;
"Can't hear movie Sweetie? No. Can't hear it. Go home now. Maybe watch movie at home?"
My pity deflector shield is rendered inactive as she apologizes profusely and refunds me for the tickets; I soak that shit right up.
Texting Al as we head to car, that movie reward is a bust, hopefully there will be something good on TV. Al is at the mall. Al has a plan.
Owen is less bothered by movie fail than I am, but I reassure him that;
"Daddy at mall. Get for you what? Surprise."
We're home for only minutes before Daddy and surprise arrive:
Yogi Bear would be a terrible idea no matter what the circumstances.
Iron Man 2 blasting at maximum volume, Owen's face glowing inches from the screen?