Thought that you might have, some advice to give, on how to be, insensitive

I feel like such a liar.  I spend my time telling all of you about how strong I am for my son, and yesterday my strength was put to the test, and I failed.

We took our boys to the zoo for the first time this year.  There were a ton of people there!  The weather was perfect, the animals were out (except for the prairie dogs – boooooo!), and we had a great time.  However, I realized that I am still sensitive to the acts of others where Gabriel is concerned.

When we were walking to the zoo from the parking lot, we passed two people in wheelchairs who I am assuming have cerebral palsy, but since I am not a doctor, that was only a guess.  Either way, as we are passing them, Ethan asks us what is wrong with one of their arms.  Once we were out of earshot, we stopped and told Ethan that God makes all people different and unique and while it is ok to have questions, we should save our questions until we are in a place where they can’t hear us discuss what makes them different than us.  We asked him how he would feel if everyone asked questions and stared at his brother because he looks different…well, you can probably guess what’s coming next.

While we were standing in line, there was a little boy next to us asking his mother what was wrong with Gabriel.  I didn’t hear her response, but the little boy just kept studying our Gabriel’s face.  I wanted to explain it to him, but turned my back instead – I just never know what other people want me to teach their children, so it was easier to turn away.

Chad and Ethan went to ride the sky lift – I sat on a bench and fed Gabriel.  We watched all sorts of people come and go and then a family was leaving the sky lift area speaking Spanish.  One of their little boys walked by and just glanced at Gabriel.  Then about 10 feet later, he comes sprinting back, stands about two feet in front of us and yells to his parents in Spanish.  They yelled back and eventually he went with them.  I know it’s ridiculous, because I couldn’t even understand what they were saying, but I spent the rest of the wait trying not to cry.

As we continued our trip to the zoo, at least six other children and a handful of adults all stopped at some point to stare at my baby.  There were two couples who did take a look at him, but one just asked me how old he is and said he was beautiful.  The other stopped and asked if his palate is involved.  I said yes, and they explained that their niece was also born with cleft lip and palate.  They said she is 13-years old and just had her third nose repair.  They were extremely nice and said that Gabriel is beautiful, but I just couldn’t get past a 13-year old having their third nose job.  I had another one of those moments where I just sunk into this horrible feeling that all of this is never going to end.  I am never going to be able to tell people exactly how many more surgeries or when he will be done with surgeries, because nothing with cleft is certain.

By the time we were driving home, my mood just got worse and worse.  God, I felt like such a hypocrite.  I have always had an ‘I don’t really care if people like me or not’ attitude.  The only people whose opinions matter are those that I love.  If you don’t know me, and you don’t like me – I am not going to spend a second of my time worrying about that or trying to make you like me.  In my version of heaven, those I loved on earth will be there in my eternity.  If you didn’t make the cut because you chose to hate me – no big deal – I won’t miss you.  Every day I say my mantra – ‘no one can make you feel inferior without your permission’ (thank you Eleanor Roosevelt).  I raise my kids in the same fashion – or at least I thought I did.

How am I ever going to teach Gabriel that his scars don’t matter?  That whatever happens to his teeth is no big deal?  That he should not care what people say, do, or think of him?  How am I supposed to teach him to be a strong, independent, confident, mature person when I nearly cry over kids staring at him?

I don’t even know what they were saying or thinking and yet, the second I catch someone looking his way, I start obsessing over what they could possibly be thinking or saying as they walk away.  And honestly, they could just be thinking that he is a cute baby – because he is.  I don’t know, and the point is, it shouldn’t matter.  They shouldn’t matter.  If it were me and my scars, I wouldn’t even remotely care about what they think.  I have a several inch scar across the back of my neck from having a benign tumor removed a few years ago – I cut my hair short knowing that people would see it and wonder what it is – and didn’t care.  When I meet my goal of losing 65 pounds and my husband and I go on a cruise - despite the fact that I have stretch marks on my stomach, scars from having my gallbladder removed, and two nasty C-Section scars – I am going to wear the world’s smallest bikini and I am not going to care. 

 

So why can’t I not care about what others think of my child? 

 

Sometimes I think that if people knew him like I do, they wouldn’t even see the clefts.  Sometimes the clefts actually take me by surprise when I walk into a room because I forget they are there.  He’s a beautiful, wonderful, little boy – and I suppose that’s why I don’t want him hurt by the obnoxiousness of others.  I don’t want him to lose his sweetness because of things that are beyond his control.  And damn it all, I don’t want him to ever feel inferior without his permission.

  

I guess I, once again, have some work to do…