Cathy in the Wright

My Dinner With Boy #3

Interesting experience at McDonalds last night.

I didn't feel like cooking, and The Senator was eager to show me how he is conquering his fear of heights, by demonstrating how he can now climb the platform stairs all the way to the top of the Playland. Who could say no to that plea?

We got there, ordered with incident (The Governor is operating napless, I might add), sat down, and ate. While we're eating, I notice that there is another family with five boys running wild around the play area. All five of them were loud, dirty, and all of them sported the mini-mullet. The skanky, four inch, slightly curly tendril of hair dangling just below the collar line. It was all I could do not to take my plastic knife and start sawing.

The father of this brood apparently just got off from work. His shirt looked like a regular dress shirt, but it had more dirt than all five of his kids combined. His jeans were in a worse state. No mullet. (Rather unfair to do that to your kids and not wear one in solidarity, no?)

The mom wedged herself into a booth and ate french fries and looked around in happy bliss. She was either pregnant with number six, or considerably out of shape.

At first glance, I wrote the parcel of them off as a bunch of low-brow siphons of the welfare system. But then I reconsidered. I didn't know their story. The father certainly appeared to have worked hard to get that dirty. He was probably on a payroll somewhere. Paying taxes. Doing his share. So I chastised myself as a pretentious snob and finished my meal.

The boys finished and headed off into the play area. This is when I pay attention to Boy #3 from the Squalid Family. This poor troll. He was mangier, dirtier, and more poorly dressed than his brothers. He also had Downs Syndrome. He was parked at the top of the stairs, and for some reason, he had a real problem with The Governor. Boy 3 would push or shove The Governor every time he got within arm's reach.

I tried to steer my kids clear of him. "Play over on the slides while he's up there." When Boy 3 started spitting from the top of the stairs, I yelled, "Senator! Get away from that kid. He's spitting!" Not my indoor voice by any means.

Did the parents react? No. It might have been someone else's kid for all the attention they paid to this boy.

A few minutes later, Boy 3 followed The Gov down a slide and pushed him in the back at the bottom. The Senator jumps up on a platform and announces at the top of his lungs, "Mom! That kid just pushed The Governor IN THE BACK!"

The Governor was crying but he turned around and shouted at Boy 3, "KNOCK IT OFF, KID!"

Now my experience with Downs Syndrome is limited. But the few children I know with this condition are still disciplined by their parents. They are still taught right from wrong. They may not always understand what they did, but their parents are always teaching them and correcting them. They don't ignore bad behavior.

So I picked up The Governor, looked over at Squalid Dad, and snapped, "You need to DO SOMETHING about your son."

I turned away, finished comforting The Governor, released him back into The Playland, and stood guard near the slides. I turned around a few minutes later, and Squalid Dad was grabbing Boy 3's hand and shouting, "No, you DON'T do that!" I wasn't sure if that was because of The Governor, or some new offense, but he had it coming.

Squalid family left shortly after that, and so did we. As we were walking out, another family, this time with three boys, came into the play area. All three were sporting full-blown mullets.

I think we have made our last visit to McDonalds.

Posted by Cathy at September 10, 2004 02:13 PM