Pushed Over the Edge
Our older son, John, who is now a proud grandfather, was a happy little boy. With difficulties at birth, the odds of his survival were slim to none. The doctor who helped to bring our firstborn into the world admitted he never had a child live, whose umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck four times. There are many problems with an oxygen-deprived baby. Thankfully, the oxygen was restored to his body quickly.
Along with a few lingering problems, John was later diagnosed as hyperactive. With his doctor’s approval, we chose to wait to medicate him for the hyperactivity as long as possible. His little brother, who is 20 months younger, was the opposite of hyper. I could prop the younger baby on a blanket, and he would sit there all day (if I didn’t intervene) until he was hungry or needed a diaper change, or his brother ran in the room and knocked him over
When we visited the pediatrician’s office for a well-check, our little ones were wild despite all efforts to calm them. Occasionally, our sons formed a gang of toddlers in the waiting room and led them into all kinds of mischief. This kept the moms and dads jumping and me apologizing. The upheaval in the well room was always interrupted when Mrs. D. came to the waiting room door. Every child who was not a new patient stopped dead in their little tracks.
Mrs. D. was the pediatrician’s senior nurse. (I’m not using her real name even though I’m sure she would be honored to be remembered for her total control of all things little.) She was the one who administered the shots, and the children followed her commands with precision. I admired this tall, thin, serious nurse, but I really wish she had used a different method for obtaining urine samples. After leaving the doctor’s office, my little boys loved tinkling in a cup, any and all cups! But I digress.
In 1974, when our boys were 3 and 5 years old, we moved from Woodstock, GA, back to Lawrenceville. We joined Mt. Zion Baptist Church. The people were wonderful, and most were close to our age with little children and no money. In the Bible, Jesus said, “Suffer little children and forbid them not to come unto me.” I’m not a Bible scholar, but I know without a doubt that verse was written for me.
Getting the children ready for church was a daunting task! My husband and I would flip a coin to see who had to dress JOHN. Ernest won the toss one beautiful Sunday morning, and I began the chase. I caught John, wrapped my legs around his lower half, and began to wrestle this laughing little boy into his clothes. After twenty-three choruses of Old McDonald Had a Farm, he began to crow like a rooster. He broke loose of my hold, took off running (while still crowing), and removed most of the clothes that were recently zipped, buttoned, and tied.
I caught him, wrapped my legs around him again, and began to put his clothes back on. As he laughed and crowed for the 50th time, I lost it and said, “Damn IT … John, stop crowing and be still!” The minute I said the words, I was mortified, and John was stunned. The little thing recognized a word coming from his mom that he had been taught never to say.
Dismissing the idea that paranoia was clouding my judgment, I was sure every member who attended a church that day looked at me strangely. At least 100 people (a little exaggeration) came up to me between Sunday School and the morning church service to say with a smile that they were praying for me. The preacher offered me counseling as he turned away and laughed out loud. You see, five-year-old John had requested prayer in his Sunday school class for his mom, who, in his words, “cussed him out!”
John grew up and his hyperactivity wore itself out. He, like his brother, was a handful but more of a blessing than I can ever express. When he decided to join the Marines, I cried. Even as big as he was, all I could see was that crowing little boy. When John let us know he could begin to receive a little mail in boot camp, I sent him a note with these words, “I love you and miss you. Now, do you know what it means to be cussed out?”
