There was a time, a few years back, when Griffin would not allow us to use the word “joshing.” Kidding, teasing, joking, ribbing, making fun were all okay. But he would go ballistic if we told him we were just joshing with him. To this day I never use the word. To be honest, I don’t miss it much.
.
Hope he doesn’t read this post. If he does, I’ll tell him it was all just in jest or good fun.
.
I have a killer chest and head cold. Yup. Right now I am oozing and coughing germs all over my screen and key board. Regular readers know that, basically, all my internal organs are in a state of fairly rapid entropy for a 46 year old guy. However, I rarely get a cold. Got one now.
.
I’m fairly certain you can’t catch it over the interwebs. But just to be sure, I would hit the Purell pretty hard after reading this post. I’m hoping to feel better soon since I’ve been ingesting gallons of our old family secret cold and cough remedy – Heroin and Robo DM Cocktails. I find that Black Tar Smack works best if the cough is in your upper chest. Go for the China White if it’s deep down.
.
This is the first time I have been ambling around the house in about 24 hours and haven’t seen much of the kids. Popped my head to tell Lil Sis I love her and then went to do the same with Griffin. He was excited to see me and we embarked on this lovely conversation;
.
Griffin: “Hey Daddy!! Why are you wearing a bathrobe?”
.
Me: “Um, I’m sick. Been in bed for a solid day.”
.
Griffin: “Oh no! Are you feeling better?”
.
Me (Beaming from the apparent empathy): “I am Griff. I’m feeling a little better. Thank you so much for asking!”
.
Griffin: “Okay. Enjoy your cold!”
.
At this point he turned back to his computer to watch a You Tube video of some tornado destroying a trailer park in the Midwest circa 1950. Me? I’m just sitting here “enjoying” my cold.
.
PS: No. My bathrobe is not a “shorty-robe.” That’s just disgusting.
.
I received a nice sized check in the mail the other day. Unfortunately it was not a royalty check from sales of my extraordinarily funny book. Nope, it was a refund from our state run prepaid college plan. I cried when I saw it. The only time in my life that I’ve cried while holding a large check made payable to me.
.
When Griffin was born (Lil Sis too) we dutifully signed him up for the aforementioned state run prepaid college plan. I paid it in a lump sum and went on to dream about that day I would see him stroll across the stage at the University of Florida (sorry Canes and ‘Noles) and wave at me as he grabbed his diploma and embarked on his adult life.
.
It has been several years since we’ve known that this dream was just that, a dream. It has long been apparent that Griffin would not being going to college. Several weeks ago, we made it official. I contacted the state and with the support and assistance of Griffin’s team (Psychiatrist, Psychologist, Social Worker ….) I requested the refund. Done.
.
He’s going on 16. I have no idea what his adult life will be like. But at this point, we know it doesn’t include Frat parties and a B.A. from a major university.
.
This has been a long time coming. We have talked about this for years and we have no doubt this decision was the right one for Griffin and the rest of the family. He is just as happy today as he was the day I applied for the refund. We love him just as much as ever and look forward to what his future holds. He may still be destined for world changing greatness. But he won’t be a member of UF’s class of 2020.
.
The check is out of my hands and in our bank. But it still hurts. My heart is still a little broken.
.
I hate small talk. Absolutely despise it. Don’t get me wrong; I love to pontificate, orate, toot my own horn, brag, whine, complain, and preach. However, those meaningless conversations about nothing that we all find ourselves in from time to time drive me batty. I’m just a jerk that way. Plain and simple. Antisocial pig. Proud of it.
.
But, in a bit of cosmic karma, Griffin loves nothing more than a good long conversation about the weather. For him, I bend my small talk embargo.
.
.
This is a picture of Paul Wight (ak.a. Big Show) I stole it from Wikipedia. Big Show is a professional wrestler who stands 7’0” tall and weighs 440 pounds. Give or take 50 pounds. Mr. Wight lives less than a few hours from me. So if he wants me to take this picture down, it will be taken down. Immediately. Other than this brief bio, Big Show’s need to be included in this blog will be revealed below.
.
Saint Apollonia is apparently the patron saint of Dentists. True story. I see dentistry as a cult. Basically, you could be a non-cult-member, never go to see a Dentist in your life and lose your teeth at 60ish. The true Cult members, go for quarterly cleanings, suffer through root canals, have more cavities filled than they have teeth, and continually get berated for not flossing enough. Don’t even get me started on Wisdom Teeth. For all this loyalty and sacrifice, Cult members will lose their teeth at 70ish.
.
Since I’m a parent, I have to pretend to be a member of the Cult and indoctrinate my kids or else Social Services may be at my doorstep before you can say, “Rinse and Spit.”. Stupid Social Services. So the kids have been avid cult members. Lil Sis finished her braces (maybe) and Griffin is still in “Phase 1” of Orthodontia Hell. Don’t know what “Phase 1” is, but I do know it costs $161.00 a month for 50 months.
.
At this point in Phase 1, Griffin needs to have a bunch of teeth pulled and some sort of chain installed. Don’t ask me why this needs to be done. I am Cult member only for my kids. Anyhoo, for this procedure we need to see an oral surgeon. Probably costs a little less than a convertible Bentley but I’m sure it’ll be worth it. The procedure requires anesthesia. This means an IV. Griffin has never had an IV inserted and makes getting his finger pricked for a glucose strip test seem like a scene from Private Ryan. Not gonna be fun.
.
I’m sure some of you who have smaller kids on the spectrum are saying, “That sucks. But you just have to hold them down for a few minutes and then the worst is over.” Uh huh. This is where Big Show enters our tale.
.
They don’t call me Big Daddy for nothing. I tip the scales at near the big 300 (That’s 406 Kilometers for my British fans). Only I’m made mostly of Jelly Fish (38.2%) and Lard (96.77%). Griffin is like a Man-Boy as he approaches 16. He’s completely uncoordinated and could not physically or mentally hurt a fly. I’ve actually seen flies make Griffin cry. But he is large and he can flail his legs, arms and other seeming “unflailable” body parts like a bunch of drunken Ninjas at a Balsa Wood Convention. This is why I need to call in the big guns. Big Show!
.
I just hope Big Show is available March 14 or I can see a lot of black eyes, bruised lips, and broken femur’s carried around by the oral surgeon, his staff, and any innocent bystanders.
.
Call me Paul.
.