On Saturday night we were invited to a friend’s place for Singaporean
Crab. (They’re our fancy friends. They also own two cars – both Volvos, and
holiday in the penthouse suite of fancy resorts up north in Queensland. Fancy.)
We know these fancy friends because my friend and I both grew humans at
the same time and were put in the same mother’s group, which I was scared of
and ran away from, and now we have our own mother’s group, an exclusive club of
4 mothers, 4 bubbas and a lot of takeaway coffee.
The kids all kick around together, stealing each other’s food, failing at
the concept of ‘sharing’ and weeing in public the second we take their nappies
off. They’re all about a week apart, so tend to band together for activities
like teething, tantrums and stage 5 clinging.
They’re just regular kids. Some have more teeth than others (Q has lapped
her friends in that department, recording a whopping 16 chompers by 12 months
of age), everyone has more hair than Q, they’re just about even in height and weight
and it just so happens that W was also born with achondroplasia, more commonly
known as dwarfism.
The only difference between W and his mates is the size of their heads.
Other than that, they’re pretty much the same.
I am pleased to report that just
like Q, W whinges, yells at his mother and also manages the sneaky wee out the
side of his nappy.
Crab night had been planned around the return of W and his parents from
their first family holiday – the penthouse resort deal I referred to earlier.
Two weeks of sun, sand, surf and a salt-rimmed margarita.
Sigh.
I have envy.
Room service, fresh towels everyday, in-house movies…bliss.
But the absolute best thing about staying in a fancy hotel has got to be
the breakfast buffet.
Don’t pretend you don’t like it.
What’s not to like? They offer everything.
19 different cereals, (although in my opinion that’s a pathetic choice as
Weetbix is cheap and you can generally afford that in your real life). No,
smart buffet eaters head for the boutique pastries, the freshly made organic poached
eggs, the expensive, seasonal fruit artfully cut and arranged. You can get
another cup of coffee if yours goes cold before it’s finished and try everyone
of the juices.
Again I say, what’s not to love about a buffet?
So there they are in the buffet dining room, W in his mother’s lap while
his dad finished off his stack of made-to-order pancakes and his mum sipped on
her second skim latte.
Enjoying each other’s company, the weather and the ambience, until my
friend became aware of the woman sitting behind her.
‘What’s wrong with that kid? His head is huge. Look at it. It’s massive. There’s something really wrong with him. Seriously, it’s making me sick
just to look at him.’
On and on and on she went until my friend couldn’t even enjoy her coffee
any longer, which is crime enough in itself if you ask me, as we all know how
dear a coffee is to a young mum.
My friend sat there, uncomfortable and fuming, waiting till her husband (who
couldn’t hear the nasty woman) had finished his pancakes so they could leave. When
he had, he picked up W and headed out of the restaurant. My friend followed
behind, but she paused at the table of the offending woman and said;
‘My son’s life will only be made difficult by people like you and your
intolerance,’ and then she continued on her way.
And to her I say ‘bravo, my friend, bravo. You handled that situation
with dignity, aplomb and far more respect than that woman showed your young family.
I’d like to think that if I’d heard that woman’s diatribe, I’d have
handled things with as much finesse.
There are tough times ahead for all our kids, when they get picked on for
the name their parents chose, the colour of their hair, or whether or not
they’re any good at marbles. Remember those times you were acutely aware of not
quite fitting in, of not quite getting it right, of having to take your turn to
be the ‘hate sponge.’
And that’s without some ninny being deliberately cruel to you in public.
There’s a fantastic quote by Alvin Prince that my mum has always had stuck
to the wall above her desk:
Parents need to
fill a child's bucket of self-esteem so high that the rest of the world can't poke
enough holes to drain it dry.
I reckon with a mum like my friend, W is going to be just fine.
I read this post a couple of hours ago and had to wait until I'd calmed down enough to write a reply.
ReplyDeleteSome people are unbelievable.
You're quite right Naoms, with a Mum like that W can't go wrong. So brave to call that woman on her comments, so dignified not to yell or swear, and all the more powerful for her restraint.
Vic
That was a graceful, yet poignant of your friend. I'm not sure I would have been so articulate!
ReplyDeleteI know ladies. I wanted to dong her on the head just hearing the tale. Had me fuming. My friend is all class though, and she can give a look that could kill, so she probably threw that in for good measure. Thanks for reading xx
ReplyDelete