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By Real Dad, June 4, 2010 8:50 pm

If you are someone that reads my blog or follows me on Twitter, you know that there isn’t much that I don’t or wouldn’t talk about or make fun of. I have a sick sense of humor and I pretty much crack jokes on everything. I will make fun of religion, race, death, sex and whatever else it is that pops into my head.  However today while making a quick stop at the grocery store, I overheard a guy crack a joke about a kid maybe 1 year old or so and it just pissed me off.

There was a little boy sitting in a carriage being pushed by a woman I assumed was his mother. The boy was wearing a helmet on his head. The helmet only went around the sides of his head, leaving the crown on his head exposed.  I continued about my business and a few isles over, I saw this boy and his mom again. As I walked past them, I stopped in front of a young couple to reach for a bag of sugar. I heard the young guy say to the woman he was with “Wow that kid must be one hell of a retard that he has to wear a hockey helmet”.  At first I completely ignored the comment and started to walk down the isle but something told me to stop and say something.  I turned to the guy and nicely told him that the kid is wearing the helmet which is actually called a cranial orthotic because his skull is deformed.  I then told him that he shouldn’t be an asshole and call a little boy a retard and I walked away.

How did I know why this boy was wearing a helmet? You guessed it; one of my kids had Plagiocephaly, aka Flat Head Syndrome and had to wear a similar helmet. My son Nicky had a head that belonged on a Drac from the movie Enemy Mine (go look that up) because my wife was in labor for 20+ hours, pushed for 3 hours and the doctor used

Yeah...he was cute!

the suction device to pull him out. It really was awful. His head was long, shaped like an egg with a purple nub on top. My mother-in-law was in the delivery room with us and she immediately asked the nurses to put a hat on him, not because he may have been cold but to hide the shape of his head.  The doctor told us that if we rotated his head position when he slept that the head would correct itself. We positioned him on different sides for every sleep he had but he always rolled onto his back. We purchased every kind of prop, pillow, insert and lining we could find to keep him from rolling on his back and none of them worked. Before we knew it, his head was completely flat in the back and the sides of his head were overhanging his ears!

After seeing the Pediatrician and a specialist, we learned that he had to get fitted for the cranial orthotic (helmet). This helmet would lightly put pressure on certain parts of the skull while not putting any pressure on the flat parts. This would allow the skull to reshape itself over the course of a few months.  My son had to wear the helmet 23 hours per day for approximately 4 months. During this time my wife had to bring him for follow-up visits to measure the growth of the skull every week or two. The helmet didn’t cause him any pain at all but it did take him several days to get used to it. Once it came off, his head was shaped perfectly.

I wasn’t annoyed with this asshole in the supermarket because my son had the same condition. I was annoyed just because he was an asshole.  I cracked jokes about my son’s head and/or the helmet during the entire time he was being treated but I never made fun of someone else’s kid. Regardless of the situation, it is never the kid’s fault.  I will

It also acted as a built-in safety device

make fun of anything but kids with physical or mental disabilities/disorders is where I draw the line (except my own of course).

Please do a favor for me? Don’t be the asshole in the supermarket and watch what you say because someone like me may overhear you!

Comments (7)

By Real Dad, January 10, 2010 9:50 pm

Yesterday I was having a twittersation with Ezmomm regarding cleaning products. She mentioned to me that she hates the smell of pine cleaners because it reminds her of the times when she was sick as a youngster and her mother would place a puke bucket next to her bed with Pine Sol at the bottom. I totally related to this as my mother and father did the same thing! It is funny how things happen because today that conversation topic partially played out in my house.

Today started out on a good note, I got to sleep until 7:30 so I was happy about that. I got out of bed and immediately went for the coffee and while I drank my beverage of life, the wife and I discussed the schedule for the day. The plan for me was to get a haircut (never happened), take Nicky to the store to by shin guards, cook chili and watch football. The wife was to take Nicky to his first soccer game then come home and do some laundry. Well it didn’t go down that way. After a little while we notice that our youngest isn’t feeling well. He was cranky and looked a little pale but all of my kids are pale so we didn’t pay it much attention. I ran to the store with Nicky and as soon I came home he was off to his soccer game. When the wife and Nicky walked in the door, I knew something was wrong because he was crying (aren’t I the brilliant and intuitive father?). My wife walks in behind him and said that he just threw up in the van. NICE! So I went outside with my father-in-law to clean the van.

By the time I cleaned the van seat and came back inside, Corey and Jordan were awake. Nicky was lying on the couch and the wife had placed a bucket on the floor next to him (minus the Pine Sol). That is when it all hit me! I started to think of all of the crazy things that my parents did when my brothers and I were sick or hurt. Most of it involves my mother but my father was good for one every now and again. I reflect back.

Don't worry Mom has a cream for that!

My first random memory occurs when I was maybe 6 or 7. We lived in Florida and like every other kid, I fell into a Fire Ant mound. I was covered in ants. My father and uncle heard me screaming and ran out. They picked me up and threw me in the shower. My mother didn’t think it was anything to worry about and she patted me down with calamine lotion but my body had little red bumps and I puffed up like the “Stay Puffed Marshmellow Man”. My father had the wits to take me to the emergency clinic and/or hospital and after a shot or two I turned out ok.

I also remember being  8 years old or so and I fell off of my bike. It didn’t hurt but you can see the bone pushing up under the skin. I walked home holding my arm and saw my mother outside as she was going shopping. I told her that I broke my arm and she asked me to move my fingers.

Move your fingers Mike!

I moved my fingers (remember it was my arm that was broken and not all of my fingers) and she told me to go inside to my father because it wasn’t broken but he can put ice on it. I did what she said and went inside. One look and my father knew it was broken but we had to wait hours before she came home so I can be taken to the hospital.

A couple of years later, I ran into a metal gate and split my forehead open. I had blood running down my face and ran home screaming. I smashed open the door just yelling for my father. I remember my mother in the background somewhere yelling “Oh oh oh oh is he ok? Oh oh oh” while my father tried to assess the damage to my head. I wouldn’t let him see it and I was screaming. He smacked me across the face and told me to calm down. I did and he took me to the hospital for my 40 or so stitches.

There was another time when my brother Marc was around 11 or 12; I think he also fell of his bike and broke his ankle or something. He hobbled into the house and his foot was the size of a football and purple in color. My older brother and I immediately knew it was broken but my mother didn’t agree. She asked Marc to move his toes and he did. Her reply….”If you can move your toes, it isn’t broken”. We tried to convince her to take him to the hospital but she didn’t see the need. A few hours later my father came home and took the poor kid to the hospital.

OOOUCH!

The best story involves my older brother Eddie. He was around 16 and had the entire attic to himself as his bedroom. He was experiencing severe pains in his balls and they swelled up like grapefruits. The story goes (I was sleeping in the other room and had no idea of what was happening) that he crawled down the stairs and went into my parents bedroom. Since my mother was the closest to the door, he approached her with his swollen balls in hand. She rolled over and looked at him, as he was in tears telling her how much it hurt, and told him that he had a stomach ache and he would be fine. He made his way back to his room only to return later to wake up my father. My father immediately ran my brother to the hospital and he had emergency surgery to save his balls. Apparently it is a fairly common thing when a young man’s balls twist up like “Click Clacks” and the doctors knew exactly what they had to do.

I know there is more but these just came to mind quickly. It is truly amazing as I am sure I will do similar things to my kids. Sometimes you just get so numb of the crying and whining that you overlook something potentially serious. At least it provides me with blog content today!