Hater Humpday is like shooting ducks in a barrel. The hardest part is narrowing down which offenders will be featured.
Let me describe Connor’s weekly social skills playgroup. I dread going to this every week, because the parents sit around in the waiting area taking great pains to not look at each other or speak. Ironically, it’s a SOCIAL SKILLS playgroup. See what I’m getting at here??
Yesterday, the jackhole dad of one of the kids had one of the kid’s toys, one of those cups with a ball on a string, and you’re supposed to throw the ball up and catch it in the cup. It looks exactly like this:
Anyway, jackhole tossed the ball up and missed. Me, trying to strike up conversation and be friendly, because I’m a total asshole like that, says “yeah, that thing is hard to do, Connor is better at it than I am.”
So, Captain Craptastic says, in a very serious, uptight way, “oh, I’m very good at it, I just missed once.” And then turns his head. Right, uh huh, and I suppose you also get all of your underwear from K-Mart and your dad lets you drive the car in the driveway on Sundays, right?
I wanted to drag his bloated carcass down the hall, because he would really benefit from attending the social skills playgroup with his son.
So, there’s also a mom and dad pair there. They are trying to be all cutesy and put together, and their other NT kids are being fussed over and they are generally over parenting the kids. And I just couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle because, really, it’s all such bullshit. You know their kid is chewing off the furniture legs at home, and they scramble to find a pair of clean underwear in the morning just like the rest of us families out here in the world. They be frontin’. Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep it real up in the hood, but they’re not feelin’ me.
And then there’s this other mom. Her son has autism and is more profoundly affected than most of the other kids. I totally feel her pain, I do. But the odd thing is that every week, she turns her boy around and tells him to “say hi to Connor and look at him when you say it.” She’s trying to enforce the social skills he’s learning. Oddly enough, she has NEVER said hello to me, not even once. I implore you, good people, isn’t that weird? It is, right?
So, in short, my hater humpday is devoted to social skills playgroup, but on a broader level, to other parents.
See, I went from living in a fantasy world of having a baby and thinking there was this magical “sisterhood of motherhood” that awaited me. But it didn’t. What awaited me was a bunch of competitive, neurotic train wrecks that were constantly one-upping each other with tales of how little Blaine could write his name when he was two, or how little Bobo has been accepted to the most prestigious pre-school.
After diagnosis I thought I would find some kind of motherly bond amongst the spectrum parents, akin to that of combat soldiers. Nope, another delusional creation of my fatigued brain, because what I’ve found are antisocial, downtrodden parents who have no interest in socializing.
Jesus. If your kid pees on my floor and tries to steal the dog’s kibble I’m not going to judge you. I’ll probably just tell you about how one dog steals my socks and eats them whole, the other dog obsessively licks one spot on his leg for hours on end, until it is raw and I have to take him to the vet, and how Connor likes to smell the toilet paper after he wipes.
It’s the house that cuckoo built, and we all live in it, so can we not just get along??