Just another day

Peter picked out his clothes for school today before he went to bed last night.  He chose his nicest outfit because his special ed group had their self-cooked Thanksgiving luncheon today.  Apparently the tables they set looked as good as the food.  It's funny -- Peter usually pitches a fit when we ask him to wear his dress pants and a polo shirt.  But when he does it himself, it is with great dignity.

I zipped over the 7-Eleven just now with Peter in tow to buy some envelopes.  Peter bought himself a Slurpee bigger than several New England states, then went out to the car while I paid for my envelopes.  The (Indian) people who run our 7-Eleven, just five blocks from home, have known Peter since he was 6.  They are the ones who gently taught him about sales tax after we stopped them from covering the sales tax without telling him.  Natural and logical consequences, right?

So suddenly the clerk leans across the counter and grasps my hand.  "We know", he says.  "We know".

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.  "You know Cameron?  He's the one who told us".  (Cameron is another high school student in our neighborhood.  How he came to know is a mystery, but it does seem that news like this travels ... which is not a bad thing.)

I was so surprised -- and touched -- by the kindness of the clerk's gesture.  Tears started welling up in my eyes.  "We love him so very much".

Still holding my hand ... "We do too.  He's our buddy!"  Squeezing my hand, tears in eyes ... "We are so sorry."

We both see Peter get out of the car, and he drops my hand.  "Say, will he be here before you leave for India?"

"Oh, I'm sure he will.  You know how money burns a hole in his pocket".

"Good.  We have some rupees we want to give him."

Peter, from the door:  "Mom!  Hurry up!  What's taking you so long?  God!"

The saying "from the sublime to the ridiculous" comes to mind here, but I can't decide which part is sublime and which part is ridiculous.  I do have a funny mind-picture for you, though. I had asked the hematologist what to do if Peter had a nosebleed, say, on the plane.  He told me that the packing material used by hospitals isn't available in drugstores, but that many people use junior size tampons.

Guess what's now in my travel bag?  Guess what I had to stuff up my nose to make sure it would fit?  Guess what hung down from my nose after I put it in?  I don't think Peter would know a tampon if he were hit over the head with it, so I'll just tell him the string is for pulling it out.  Which it is.