A Good Boy
I was feeling real impatient on Monday evening.
I had just returned to work and I spent most of the day responding to calls, texts and e-mails and I was a little fed up already.
But I had an appointment to get my back worked on a little and instead of postponing it, as my anxious mind begged me to do, I decided to keep it.
I sat down in the waiting room, hoping that the doctor would call me soon.
Why was the waiting room filled with people?
Couldn't appointments go off at the time they're scheduled for?
I had even left my phone in the car, so I had nothing to do but look around.
"This sucks," I thought.
I plopped into a chair next to a man who was about my age. He was seated across from a boy and a woman. The woman handed the boy a can of pop and he drank it down in a single gulp as the middle aged man beside me looked on anxiously.
The woman was called to her appointment and she turned to Dad:
"You're on duty," she whispered.
The kid then crumpled the empty can and tossed it across the waiting room floor.
The middle-aged man simply got out of the chair and picked up the can. He turned to me as he did so.
"My boy is autistic," he said.
The kid was big.
I didn't want to stare at him, but the Dad was ready to talk.
"He's a good boy, but he has O.C.D. things that make going out a little iffy."
I didn't know what to say to that, but the O.C.D. thing rang a bell.
Dad moved his left arm and the boy got out of the chair and pushed his father's hand a little.
"There's one of them," Dad said. "I have to put my arm in the exact position it was in when I was driving a Crown Victoria with him about twenty years ago."
Dad moved his arm a little and the kid was back up out of the chair to touch him again.
I was at a loss.
"How old is he?" I asked.
"Twenty-five," Dad said.
I offered a bit of a nervous laugh.
"Yeah, it tries my patience," Dad said.
I thought about feeling anxious as I entered the waiting room. I considered that I felt put out for waiting for the doctor.
"It's okay most of the time," Dad said.
"He's a big boy," I said.
"He wouldn't hurt a flea though," Dad tried.
The bathroom near the waiting room came open and the kid jumped up.
"You need the bathroom?" Dad asked.
The boy wasn't waiting. He pulled down his pants before even entering the bathroom.
Dad turned to me and smiled.
"I'll give him a minute," he said, "but if I don't go in there soon he'll come out of there butt-ass naked."
I was at a complete loss.
I also admired the man sitting beside me. He seemed so patient and calm. Of course it was hard for me not to compare it to my own tiny life.
"He's a good boy," the man said.
"He probably allows you to appreciate quiet times," I offered.
Dad laughed again as he headed for the bathroom door.
The receptionist called my name.
"He's a good boy," Dad said once more.
I got a lesson.
God Bless Mom, Dad and the good boy.
God Bless 'em.
I had just returned to work and I spent most of the day responding to calls, texts and e-mails and I was a little fed up already.
But I had an appointment to get my back worked on a little and instead of postponing it, as my anxious mind begged me to do, I decided to keep it.
I sat down in the waiting room, hoping that the doctor would call me soon.
Why was the waiting room filled with people?
Couldn't appointments go off at the time they're scheduled for?
I had even left my phone in the car, so I had nothing to do but look around.
"This sucks," I thought.
I plopped into a chair next to a man who was about my age. He was seated across from a boy and a woman. The woman handed the boy a can of pop and he drank it down in a single gulp as the middle aged man beside me looked on anxiously.
The woman was called to her appointment and she turned to Dad:
"You're on duty," she whispered.
The kid then crumpled the empty can and tossed it across the waiting room floor.
The middle-aged man simply got out of the chair and picked up the can. He turned to me as he did so.
"My boy is autistic," he said.
The kid was big.
I didn't want to stare at him, but the Dad was ready to talk.
"He's a good boy, but he has O.C.D. things that make going out a little iffy."
I didn't know what to say to that, but the O.C.D. thing rang a bell.
Dad moved his left arm and the boy got out of the chair and pushed his father's hand a little.
"There's one of them," Dad said. "I have to put my arm in the exact position it was in when I was driving a Crown Victoria with him about twenty years ago."
Dad moved his arm a little and the kid was back up out of the chair to touch him again.
I was at a loss.
"How old is he?" I asked.
"Twenty-five," Dad said.
I offered a bit of a nervous laugh.
"Yeah, it tries my patience," Dad said.
I thought about feeling anxious as I entered the waiting room. I considered that I felt put out for waiting for the doctor.
"It's okay most of the time," Dad said.
"He's a big boy," I said.
"He wouldn't hurt a flea though," Dad tried.
The bathroom near the waiting room came open and the kid jumped up.
"You need the bathroom?" Dad asked.
The boy wasn't waiting. He pulled down his pants before even entering the bathroom.
Dad turned to me and smiled.
"I'll give him a minute," he said, "but if I don't go in there soon he'll come out of there butt-ass naked."
I was at a complete loss.
I also admired the man sitting beside me. He seemed so patient and calm. Of course it was hard for me not to compare it to my own tiny life.
"He's a good boy," the man said.
"He probably allows you to appreciate quiet times," I offered.
Dad laughed again as he headed for the bathroom door.
The receptionist called my name.
"He's a good boy," Dad said once more.
I got a lesson.
God Bless Mom, Dad and the good boy.
God Bless 'em.
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