Charlie competed in the Eastern Regional Karate Championships today. He took a 2nd place trophy in kata and got wiped out in the first round on fighting. He was disappointed in the fighting, not because he didn't win, but because it meant he was done after the first two minutes and couldn't fight any more.
When we got out to the car, I said something about him needing a piece of furniture to keep all these trophies he has racked up in karate, and just how many do you have now, anyway? (He keeps them squirreled away up in his room, so I never see them.) I figured there must be 9 or so by now.
He thinks for a minute....18.
Really? 18????
Wow!!! He really DOES need a piece of furniture just for the trophies!
Got the call today that every parent dreads...when your kid has been in an accident.
Not Charlie. This was Oldest Son, Rick. I was at the office and saw his cell phone number flash on the display, but I was already on the phone and couldn't get rid of the other caller fast enough--it went to voice mail. Rick NEVER calls me at work. He is a child of the Age of IT, and he always either e-mails or texts. And we had a really wicked ice storm today....I got rid of the call as fast as I could and switched into voice mail, only to hear a very shaky and thready, panicky-sounding Rick. I couldn't even make out all of the words, he was talking so fast and there was so much background noise, but I clearly made out the phrase "flipped the car." When I called him back, I still couldn't understand half of what he was saying, but I managed to get enough to find out where he was, and I just left everything and flew out of the office.
Didn't get the full story until I actually got to him. Short version: He skidded on an ice patch, did a 360+, and his tail end caught the guardrail, flipped him end-over. He was belted, so he ended up hanging upside-down from the floor, and managed to undo his seatbelt and crawl out.
The car, of course, was totalled. But he was completely unhurt.
Rick doesn't believe in God (or if he does, in a very nebulous way), but he ought to. There's simply no one else to thank for the ability to walk away from this.
Last Saturday, I was getting ready for the next day prior to going to bed, and I asked Charlie, "Will you be going to church with me tomorrow?" His answer (or so I thought) usually depends on which church we are going to--my church, his church, or another church if I'm interpreting somewhere.
Did he ask where we are going? Uh-uh. His question was, "Is it communion Sunday?"
Forgetting Charlie's long-standing preoccupation with food, I'm pondering whether there's a deep meaning to this--does he feel more of a connection to God when the elements are served?--and Rick starts snickering off on the sidelines.
I glanced over at him with a questioning face, and he stops laughing long enough to say, "It's all about the snacks, man..."
Charlie and I decided to go to the "Many Moons Festival" at Towson University. I've been feeling bad, because when I adopted him, I made a promise to China (in writing) that I would take steps to preserve his cultural heritage and instill a pride in being Chinese, celebrate Chinese holidays, etc. I've been a miserable flop. Not that Charlie really cares, unless it involves food...
Which this event did. It promised Asian foods galore.
As it turns out, it took us quite a while to get to the food. The minute we walked in the door, Charlie and his mohawk became the instant darlings of a bunch of old Asian men. When they realized he was deaf, they weren't for a minute put off--they pantomimed the mohawk and gave him the thumbs-up on it. He had a huge grin.
Then a man rushed up, all excited, with STUFF in his hands. STUFF with feathers sticking out of it and bright colors. This gentleman had decided that Charlie looked very Aztec with his mohawk, and they were about to have an Aztec parade, here's your costume, here have a drum, just follow the other kids as they're parading through all the different floors of this building, and you'll end up back here when it's done.
Hilarious. Here's your Aztec....
Charlie sometimes defies description. That's mainly because he won't leave his hair in the same style more than a few days running. He is constantly experimenting with it and changing up, I guess because while in the orphanage he had no control. When they were cutting hair, everyone got hair done, and everyone looked the same. Everyone had the exact same cut, because the kids' preferences were never taken into account, and it was easier to just do the same exact thing to every child. Now that Charlie is the boss of his own body, he wants to have some fun.
I put up with it up to a point. I won't allow tattoos until he's older and out on his own, because that's permanent, but hair? It grows back.
He has really tested me on that view, however.
My mother at one point had been putting highlights in my hair, and there was some stuff left over, so she jokingly asked Charlie if he wanted some highlights, too. He said yes, and unlike her, he wasn't joking.
So she put them in. And he loved it.
So the next time, he got bolder. He decided he wanted to go blond--on one side of his head. He bought a bleach kit and took it to my mother's house, and explained what he wanted. The right side of his head blond, the left side leave black. We tried to explain that his hair was not going to go blond. He didn't care, wanted to try. She looked at me, and I just threw up my hands, so she went ahead and did it.
What Charlie ended up with was the right side of his head ORANGE and the left side black. Hmmm, not quite what he had in mind, but it would do.
He paraded around like that for a couple of days, but then the black started growing in at the bottom. And that's when he got his grand idea...
His brother was going for a haircut, and Charlie's was starting to get long, so Rick took him along. When Charlie told the nice lady at the Hair Cuttery what he wanted, she refused to do it until Rick called home and got me on the phone to tell her it was okay to do whatever he wanted. I knew then it was gonna be radical.
The boy came home with a striped mohawk. Split down the middle, an orange stripe and a black stripe. All sitting on little black roots. Don't believe me?
What I said: "I should Facebook that." (referring to story in previous post about lying to deaf people)
What Rick heard: "Hush your face, BugBat."
Huh??? Obviously my diction isn't the greatest after a couple glasses of wine...
Even worse was trying to explain it to Charlie, who couldn't understand why we were laughing so hard we were choking. It just doesn't translate well into sign!
I don't often fib to Charlie. I usually go to great lengths to explain what is happening in the environment around him if it relates to something he can't hear.
But after having a couple glasses of wine, I'm a little lazy.
We were at Pizza Hut tonight for dinner, Rick, Charlie, and I. I had two glasses instead of my usual one because I had Rick along as a double D. (Shhh, don't tell my cardiologist, he'd have a fit!) On the way home, Rick's neck seemed to be on a swivel, and I finally asked him what was wrong. He said he kept thinking he heard motorcycle engines, and he was looking for them so he could make sure he didn't hit one. But he couldn't find them, only hear them.
I didn't hear any motorcycle engines, so I started to tease him about the voices in his head. He decided to just roll down the windows of the car so he could hear better.
At this point Charlie, who had seen us arguing back and forth (and me not signing, which was very rude of me), gave a questioning sound that even in my wine-induced haze I could accurately interpret as "Why did he roll the windows down?"
I was feeling way too lethargic to go back and explain the whole scenario in sign language, so I just told him, "Rick farted."
I really AM a bad mother...
