Ladybugs

Sometimes I hate people.  I really do.  My mom was recently reading a book by an autistic man.  He's about thirty now, but the book was reminiscing on his childhood.  He calls himself a savant, as he is a mathematical genius.  He figured out pi to twenty five decimal places, or something ridiculous.  I honestly don't really even know what pi is, except math, and I got off the math bus a looooong time ago.  Anyway, this man was telling a story that happened when he was about ten.  He has fixations, as nearly all autistic children do.  During this particular time, he was utterly obsessed with ladybugs.  He was all about ladybugs.  So much so that his mother bought him a special tub in which to keep them.  He would collect dewy branches every day for them, and made sure they had plenty of aphids to eat.  He loved his ladybugs.

His teacher was apparently sick of hearing about the ladybugs, so one day he asked this boy to bring them to class, as a show and tell project.  You can probably imaging how excited he was.  Once he got to class the teacher asked him to take a note to the principal's office, and while he was gone, he turned loose all of the ladybugs.  Let them all go. 

This poor kid was inconsolable.  Absolutely inconsolable.  Autistic children find comfort and security in all kinds of objects.  Those ladybugs were his whole world, and the teacher (a male teacher) turned them all loose.  He said he was afraid they'd get loose in the classroom.  My lily white fanny. 

If he were my child, I would have reigned down hell on that school, the likes of which they have never seen.  It would be swift and it would be brutal.  I can't even imagine.  And the thing is, he eventually would have moved on to something else.  That poor boy.  It hurts me to think about what he must have felt when he came back into that classroom. 

Parents put up with all kinds of annoying stuff from kids.  Case in point, I was three and a half when my brother was born.  For being a good girl (and to keep me occupied while my parents dealt with the new baby) they bought me a new toy.  It was a Fisher Price ( I know I'm dating myself here ) record player.  I'm not sure if the record came with it, or it was just the only one I had, but I was obsessed with "Elvira" by the Oak Ridge Boys.  It's no exaggeration when I say that I listened to that song every waking minute.  If I was awake, I was listening to Elvira.  I couldn't even hazard a guess how many times my poor parents had to listen to that song. 

But you know what they did?  They listened to Elvira.  Because it made me happy.  Eventually, I moved on to something else, as I am no longer listening to Elvira around the clock.  I do still like it, though.  It's catchy.

Elvira, Elvira, my heart's on fire, for Elvira!
Giddy up-Oom Poppa-Oom Poppa-Mow Mow
Giddy up-Oom Poppa-Oom Poppa-Mow Mow
High-o Silver, Away!