The Bread and the Wine

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..." 

Many Moons--Aztec moons, that is...

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....

Hair today and gone tomorrow - the tale of the Mohawk

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?

Hush Your Face, Bugbat!

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! 

Fibbing to a deaf person

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...

What Would Happen to Me?

I was hoping it would be a while before this question arose.  Charlie finally wants to know what would happen to him if something happened to me.  Two recent events sparked the question in his mind, and he finally brought it up after wondering for a while. 

The first event involved bees.  Charlie didn't know I have a deadly allergy to bees until he saw me jump and run when a nest was discovered in a vehicle that has been sitting for a while.  That started the thought process.

Then, about 2 weeks ago, I went into the hospital for appendicitis, and had a heart attack while on the operating table.  Charlie was greatly relieved upon visiting in the hospital to see me sitting up, talking, signing, and looking okay, just in a lot of pain from the appendix surgery.  But that really brought the question to the forefront:  What would happen to him?

I explained that his godfather had agreed to be his legal guardian until such time as his older brother was professionally established enough to be able to take over, and that seemed to satisfy him. 

He didn't ask for any more specific details than that, such as whether he'd be able to stay at the same school, go to the same church, etc., so I'm guessing that means that he is comfortable with the plan and the people involved.  What I'm wondering, but afraid to ask, is whether he really worried that he would have to go back if something happened to me.  After some of the stuff I have found out about his past, that possibility would be worse than traumatic to him.  But he seems reassured that I've got him covered, so I guess that's all that's important. 

Sometimes I'd just love to get inside his mind...

Big week!

In addition to the brown belt, in the same week, Charlie had two other major accomplishments, in our eyes, anyway!. 

Remember when I mentioned he had a role in the school's production of "Dracula"?  He won the George Faupel Performing Arts Award (with a $50 savings bond) for that.  We drove out to Frederick to see it being presented to him.  When he saw us in the auditorium, he was surprised.  The school had not told HIM he was getting the award, so he thought he was only there to watch his friends get college scholarships awarded!  When he wanted to know why I was there, I told him I had heard there was going to be an ASL movie--look, don't you see the projector down there?  And the screen?  He swallowed it (boy, that kid is gullible...), and the look of absolute SHOCK on his face was priceless when they called his name for the acting award.  Proud mommy?  Heck, yeah!!!

Then the next day he brought home a piece of art I had never seen him do.  Turns out as soon as he finished it, his teacher scarfed it up and entered it in some high school art competition because she liked it so much.  He won third prize there.  Here's a picture of the picture, which is now hanging in the dining room:

So, between the brown belt, the acting award, and the art award, he has just had a really big week.  I'm afraid it might go to his head.