This is a Translation
Not only in English, but in realistic and a lot closer to the truth. The original text was never intended to be seen by anyone (mea maxima culpa again - I can barely sleep from the angst I have brought down on myself for this) and was an inflamed irrational rant. Imagine that one tiny irritant is a match. You light it, it flames up, goes out, and that’s it. You move on. Now imagine me (and I’m realizing that instead of digging into my insane emotions, I should divert that energy to writing fiction, because I can get pretty far gone), keeping each match preciously without lighting it (and actually pulling many out of thin air), then placing thousands of matches on a barbecue grill, pouring gasoline on it and lighting everything, That’s what the text was. It originally stemmed from tiny bits of reality but it was loaded with venom that came only from me, not from anyone else involved (I knew that, and that’s one of many reasons I was never going to show it to anyone). This is the version I should have written (and published). The venom, frankly, I am partly letting go of, and partly redirecting to a practical more positive purpose. This story is perhaps not *the* truth, but it is what I believe. Not investigative reporting by any means, but at least I think it’s an honest report.
The Kid came back from a whole week at Walt Disney World on Tuesday (lucky child: all I got was one day when I was six, and it was the high point of my short life for long afterwards!). He was lucky enough for his mom and her parents to have taken him down there for his spring break, having had an inheritance that they generously decided to spend on making him extatic (the anticipation had been building for him since Christmas and he could hardly believe that it was all going to happen! His exact words were “I can’t believe I’m really going!”, repeated over and over). Unfortunately, he came back quite nauseous and with a sore throat, which led to a late-night major stress in our house, because he was moaning and crying and was twisting and turning in bed, half asleep, half in pain. In the end I had to bring him down to the couch, where he could calm down, because he was starting to hyperventilate, freaking out about being miserable and in pain and working himself up over it, which made everything worse. We were somewhat panicked because in the hectic post-plane moment, his mom had left with all of his documents (which we were going to get back in a couple of weeks, so it normally wouldn’t have been anything to worry about), and we were sure we’d have to take him to the doctor’s the next day (he told us his sore throat had started two days ago, and with his description and my history of tonsilitis, it was quite worrying), without a medical card, which pretty much meant taking him to his pediatrician, who is completely on the other side of town (which is a problem, with Herb in crutches and our finances in havoc, paying 40$ of cab fare and back is unthinkable (until it is required for the child of course; then we make it happen and we suffer later)). Anyway, we panicked for nothing, it turned out, since the Kid woke up almost perfectly fine the next day. We figure it was a mixture of pure exhaustion from the return trip, recycled air on the plane, weird eating schedules because of that day’s schedule, lingering excitement, less-healthy-than-home food (I’m sure every effort was made, but a restaurant is a restaurant, and a vacation is a vacation (I assume his mom is like me: during a vacation, a lot of no’s turn to yesses, just because!) - since he came back he’s been craving raw fruits and vegetables, so it’s turned out to be wonderful!), late bed times (heck, when I went at 6 it was midnight before we left and I didn’t want to leave! He’s almost 10 and has proven that excitement can replace sleep many times) and whatever else. The important thing was that he was okay, and, well, that we shouldn’t have been so worried - had he been really sick before his return, we would have been told.
He came back with quite a few toys and shirts (which I believe he has almost all worn in turns this week - he is very proud of all his new stuff), stuff that perhaps he didn’t need (and I get worked up about nothing sometimes, but it is hard for me to be struggling and essentially supporting Herb and his son completely on my own given the circumstances and to see money being spent (by anyone, which is where I should remind myself to mind my own frikkin’ business!) on non-essentials. Mind you, when I take a step back, I know full well that I too reserve money for extra useless stuff when on holiday, just to see his bright smile. And I can only imagine how many times the poor adults with him must have said no to his requests. When his grand-father told me it was a science there of parting people and their money/creating needs, I believed him! Also… it’s none of my freakin’ business!), but hey, it’s nice, fun stuff. He was very talkative that evening - oh boy. Unfortunately, with the return schedule the way it was (and with one flight a day you take what you’re paying for…!), they took him to eat before bringing him back (the day was already long and tiresome for him, but his adults still had to drive all the way home! Just thinking about it makes me want to lie down). The Kid is funny that way - if it happens to be his second meal of the day (or… if he forgets one that he’s had!), it’s lunch. So eating at 5PM for him was lunch. That led to a frustrating moment, at 7:30, when it was time for his shower and he really intended on having dinner. With him sick, though, and going to bed soon, I wasn’t going to feed him a big meal! Yeah, that schedule was unfortunate, because when away from his dad for even two days, the Kid needs *hours* to chill out with him to feel back to normal, and that evening was packed and rushed, with school the next day. He really needs that time (frankly it doesn’t concern me much - he loves me and all, but I’m no dad to him!) and always had. Unfortunately, reality sometimes knocks our teeth off.
I’m very happy he got to see and experience WDW. It stands for pretty much the opposite of most of my beliefs, overconsumption, marketing, happy-happy stuff, but that doesn’t matter in any way, shape or form: I still have a sweet spot for it, because it remains a perfect childhood bubble (and they go to extremes to make it like that!). I was extremely touched when, upon their return, his grand-parents presented me with my very own set of Mickey ears. I’d told them the story months before of how that’s all I ever wanted at Disney and how my parents had refused and held on (instead they got me a stupid visor, I have no idea what they were thinking (yes I do: price tag! But a visor? Great way to give a child sun stroke, as it protects nothing! (and I’m prone to sun stroke!))) and I have thought about those ears, as a result, for 25 years (okay, that’s a little sad…)! Well, in their great thoughtfullness and immense generosity, the Kid’s grand-parents bought me my very own Mickey Mouse ears (and I wear them now… way more than I’d ever admit…).
I’m not only glad that he got to go, but I’m also somewhat glad that I wasn’t the one to take him! Funny how that goes, but I think I would have gone mad. That looped Disney music? Oh boy. All the toy stores? Oh my. And worse: even though there were pools and they swam a lot, when they got fed up of the whole magical kingdom thing, they tried to get out (apparently, good luck!) only to find that WDW seems to be in a void! You’re either inside or… nothing. Nothing being an outlet. They seem to have you by the balls (or more precisely, by the wallet pocket!). Looking back, I realize my parents had done well in their low-budget bring-our-kid to WDW plan, because camping was cheap and meant we had our car and could go to the beach (that’s a pet peeve of mine, I simply do not like pools. Give me a lake anyday over a chlorine-filled hole, but to be realistic, the Kid will swim in anything remotely liquid. Like his aunt says, he’s a waterbaby! So it’s awesome they had pools there, since the good people at Disney have not yet caught on (apparently) that it would be nice of them to offer a day car rental service and maps so people could stay sane (I’m sure some people do - but I would probably need heavy medication to last through day 3!).
It was something of a miracle that he went, too, because four days before his departure, he had no passport. That he indeed got one, my dears, is a testament to the determination of his grand-mother. Y’see, I’d taken care of his entire passport form and process, with one major glitch (which I should have known would cause trouble, but I wasn’t too up-to-date on how insane the whole passport situation was at the time, being in a situation where a bus ticket is expensive and a plane ticket is just ridiculous (a friend recently invited me to New Zealand and it is so far from being remotely possible that it was funny and I couldn’t stop laughing at how far-fetched that idea was)): neither Herb nor I brought the form straight to the office. We mailed it. (Stooopid) Herb worked at the time and couldn’t go. I work too. A lot. Taking two or three hours (I’m optimistic today) to go downtown for this would have meant making up for it (not quite feasible when I work ten hour days and am the only one who cooks or does any chores here), or losing quite a bit of income. I’ve said this before: with Herb’s surgeries, this last year has been hell financially. I simply can’t take time off. Anyway, we mailed the thing and never heard back. His grand-parents took things into their own hands and drove for hours in the worst snow storm we’ve had all winter to get everything redone (and they even found out that there is a hush-hush rushed service for people with plane tickets, offered at only one location in all of Québec! I’m not too impressed with the passport office for the hush-hushness!). It was a difficult day (well, not for me: I got to work in a quiet apartment!) for them all, having to bring Herb on crutches in the snow, with him feeling pain after having his foot down for ten minutes and everything. But they managed it! They were out of the passport office before it closed, and from then on, the trip was on track. Here’s to raising heaven and hell for the sake of a child’s happiness! (Can you imagine three adults going there for a week, leaving the child behind? Yeah, nobody here could, either.)
So he’s back, and he’s happy. Half of the times he opens his mouth it’s to tell us of another story, another ride, another detail, another fun event. (And being almost 10, he should remember most of it forever! Hurray!) Oh, it was hard getting back into a normal routine. Quite a small price to pay for such a great event in his life, and such great time spent with people he loves and who love him (his mom, in particular, does not get to spend as much time as she’d like with him, so for them both, every millisecond counts). He needs time to recuperate and relax (what else are weekend for when you’re a child?), but you know what? Through it all, he managed to have a great week at school. Everything is peachy in his world, and I couldn’t ask for more for him. As for me, well, I will stop discussing this incredibly stupid/evil/hurtful/disgusting mistake I made here and return to our usual programming. That guilt and its many transformations are roaming through me, and it won’t be an easy change, but I have started and intend to maintain and expand it. Eventually I want this guilt to be a new line I voluntarily don’t cross, but what is important is that I’m not just making a change of scenery. The real change is occuring back-stage and on stage all at once.
