Conversations - A Two-Part Tale
At a recent kid function, I was approached by four different people, who started these conversations with me:
“What’s wrong with your son?”
“Is your son okay?”
“Do you know who he belongs to? Oh, you? Does he have chicken pox?”
“I think your son is sick.”
Whew.
Imagine if they’d seen him a year ago, when his skin looked really bad.
I’ve come to accept that these remarks come with the territory of “looking different” and I do appreciate that nobody recommended any skin products (my personal, however irrational, pet peeve). I get that The Boy’s skin does not look normal. I get that when people hear him cough and combine that with the sight of his skin, then they might conclude he is sick. I get it. I really do.
What I do not get is why people think that these are acceptable questions with which to start – and then end – a conversation.
Go ahead, ask me what’s up with my son (fyi, I find “Is he okay?” to be the least offensive of the above options). Sure, I’d prefer you assume I am not the kind of mother who brings a sick, contagious child around other children, but, whatever. I’ll answer your questions. And I won’t—no matter how often I think of doing it—respond with “So what’s wrong with your kid? Does he have some sort of contagious disease that I should know about?” But for the love of Benadryl meltaway strips, stick around and talk to me. About movies, books, cake, Johnny Depp’s ass, anything! Don’t walk up, say “Does he have chicken pox? No? Oh, okay,” and then return to your three friends and shake your heads amongst each other like you don’t believe me, the woman who’s still standing around all by herself.
Because that’s not cool.
Fast forward to yesterday. I went to Starbucks with The Boy. A woman in line kept looking at us. After I ordered my drink and was standing around waiting for it, the woman approached me and said, “I’m sorry to keep staring at you, but I believe we’ve met?”
Sure enough, we had met. At the MOMS club Easter party in 2007.
“Wow,” I said. “You have a good memory!” (For real, there must have been 30-40 people at that party.)
“Well, I never forgot your son, because his eczema was so bad.” Figures. Yes, the Easter 07 look for The Boy was unimpressive, indeed. That was around the time someone asked me if he’d “fallen into a thorny bush.” I’m not even kidding. And neither was the person asking the question.
“But he looks amazing now!” she said. “What did you do?”
Turns out both of her kids and she herself have eczema, but none so bad as The Boy, and whenever she was frustrated with her family’s eczema, she would think of me and The Boy and wonder how he was. I told her about our doctor and the blood test we did and blah blah blah, exchange, exchange, exchange.
And then her son had to pee, and I got my latte and went home. Why can’t all conversations be that lovely?
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People, as a whole, suck, to answer your question of “Why can’t all conversations be that lovely?”
I meandered over here from Mary-LUE’s blog.
I have very minor eczema sometimes, and it drives me a little crazy, so I can’t imagine what your son has experienced. I’m so sorry about that. And I’m sorry for the rudeness of others. I’m glad to hear that the diet is working. I’ve had bad itching/rash on my hands this week, and I’ve wondered if it’s related to caffeine at all, because I’ve had more of it recently. I’m going to try cutting it out and see if it works.
I promise that if ever we are at the same party, I will only ask what’s wrong with you. Are you sick? You look funny.
Someone asked me when I was due the other day, if that makes you feel any better. No?
The Baby has a touch of excema, just enough to make her uncomfortable sometimes, and I sometimes do think of your little guy when hers is bad.
(Oh, and people used to ask me all the time: “She’s so small. Is there something wrong with her?” Yes, there is, thanks for asking!)
Wow. Worst pick up lines EVER.
This really burns me up — the thought that people would ask you such personal and potentially hurtful questions, then bugger off. And whispering among themselves afterwards, well that is just the icing on the cake. God forbid they are ever in a position like yours themselves; they’ll figure it out fast enough.
A friend of mine in Tokyo has had terrible eczema all his life and has had to endure all these questions, recommendations of skin care products, etc. Like you, he only REALLY minds the impersonal nature of the questions — the quick ‘ask and vanish’ approach. Insensitive boors.
Those are the kind of conversations to store in some good memory place, to be remembered when talking to clads…
People ask me all the time what is wrong with little E’s ankles and knees. Did she fall? Is she okay? Yes, just eczema, thanks.
People can be assholes.
Today I read a post on Lifenut about how people approach and make rude comments on her choice of number of children to have. Now I read this.
What is wrong with people? Didn’t anyone else’s mother teach them basic politeness, to not stare and point fingers at the one who looks different, to not interfere with someone else’s most personal choices when you know nothing about that person?
Grr. This place sucks.
On the bright side, how cool that he’s doing so much better.