It was just one week ago that Sue and I sat in the waiting room as Ryan’s femur was operated on. Except for the news coming from an ancient wall-mounted television, the room was quiet. We had the place to ourselves. Knowing his pain was close to lessening allowed me to turn my thoughts in on myself. My sadness must have been apparent because Sue asked me what was bothering me. I told her I was just sick about Ryan’s injury and felt there must have been something I could have done to prevent it.
She agreed, there was. We could just not keep him loose. We could leave his muscles in spasm and his body stiff as a steel rod. Yes, there will always be risk and, like it or not, it’s unavoidable if he is to physically heal. Then she said “Without you, Ryan would never be as healthy as he is. You are not to blame. You are the reason Ryan is as healthy as he is.” Although completely out-of-character, she continued, “The only ones to blame are those jerks who surrounded him and beat him. They are responsible for everything”. She said no more.
Now, for Sue, saying the word “jerks” is akin to most of us saying “bastards” or “assholes”, or worse. I could see the disdain in her eyes. This she couldn’t hide. It was like a flash photo into her essence. A soul that is beautiful and pristine, except for this. In my mind I chuckled as I thought, “Yes indeed, Sue, they are poopie-faces. A trait clearly passed on from their parents”.
I can hear their doctor’s voice play in my head… “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Asshole. You’re son has PFS, that’s short for Poopie-Face Syndrome. It’s a genetic mutation passed on through both parents carrying the recessive gene. There’s no known cure and is quite common in children such as this that also are afflicted with ‘Shit for Brains’. It might be best to keep him isolated, as he is inclined to violence. With any luck, he will not acquire your leather face syndrome (LFS), but we normally don’t see this until mid-life”. I then imagine the Vantrese parents blaming the doctor for their son’s abnormality and the May parents just not giving a damn.
Despite finding myself utterly hilarious, without warning my mental “switch” flipped to anger. By George, Sue was right. It is all their fault. Thank goodness for anger. It sustains me. It’s the fire that must be lit under my sorry ass to drive me from pity. Seriously, I’m addicted to it and the supply is unlimited.