In Which I Punch Them In The Face

Wow! Kind of violent coming from a peace-loving girl like myself, don't you think? But it was about my boy, you see---he was riding his bike in the park and maybe it was because his helmet was on or maybe it was because the other boys were a little too far away. But when they tried to strike up a conversation or asked a question or whatever it was, my boy couldn't hear them. And so after several times of asking "what?" and likely desperately trying to make out what was being said or even attempting to guess and maybe fill in an answer, they laughed at him. Maybe it was just a chuckle amongst themselves, a murmured laugh and a shared look. Whatever it was, it broke his heart. And he came home, relaying the story, thinking he could just tell it. But then he cried, from the depths of his heart, he cried for maybe three minutes and said, "I wish I wasn't this way." Deaf, he meant. Different. Not part of the crowd. His anguish spilled out, and then he pulled himself together. But it's there. Still there, and how do I convince him that he's worth 100 of them, that he's luckier than most people on this earth because he's kind and compassionate and empathic and caring? How do I convince him that really there are so many people out there who battle worse disabilities than his, who live broken lives with no hope, and he's fortunate? I don't want to diminish or minimize his very real struggle. But I want him to have a perspective of hope and possibility. It's a hard age. It's a hard time to be different. It's a hard time to parent a child who maybe stands out a little because he's not exactly like all the other kids---but mostly he stands out because he's a stellar human being. Unlike those boys. Whom I want to...well, you know.