The Incident: Pervapalooza

     It's been three weeks since "The Incident."  (There should be an ominous soundtrack echoing through your head right about now.)  School has been out for a week, and I feel that it's now (hopefully) safe to blog about.  And I need to vent about it; it was traumatic for everyone involved.
     Three weeks ago, I received a phone call from our school's principal.  I had only been home from dropping them off for about thirty minutes, so I was immediately worried.  She informed me that Skeletor was in the office.  His offense?  Grabbing his classmate's...um...special area.  The principal was very kind about it, but said he would need to stay in the office for a period of time as punishment.  I felt that was the right thing to do.  He may not have understood exactly what he was doing, but he definitely needed to learn that this behavior was not okay.

See?  Not okay.

     The other child was not injured and did not appear to be upset about the incident.  Skeletor was talked to by the principal, the school counselor, his speech therapist, his teachers, and his parents.  The counselor came and spoke to the whole pre-k class about good touch and bad touch.  Problem solved right?  Yeah, not so much.  When we came to school the next morning to drop the kids off, the other child's father was there waiting on us.  He wanted a meeting with us and the principal.
     Going in, we thought we were just going to sit down and discuss what had happened.  Just apologize, make assurances about what we were doing to remedy the problem, touch base, etc.  What we got was an ambush.  As soon as we sat down, this man said, "I don't know if you know who I am, but I work for the Sherrif's Department."  O-kaaaay.  That's cool, I guess.  "This will not happen to my child.  If anything like this happens again, I'm calling the Department of Children's Services.  I've seen this kind of thing before."  Cue righteous indignation and fiery anger.
     I knew what he was insinuating.  He was saying that because Skeletor had done this, he was clearly being molested.  Now, I know that's not the biggest of leaps.  But I knew why Skeletor did what he did.  And as I opened my mouth to try to explain, I was told that he didn't care.  At this point, I was starting to lose my cool.  I began talking over him, and wouldn't shut up.  My voice grew increasingly loud as I told him that Skeletor had just the day before had a well check-up with a new doctor.  One who didn't ask permission or give any warning before he checked on Skeletor's "boys."  To everyone I spoke to, this was clearly the reason that a child who is no trouble at school would do such a thing.  But the other parent wasn't trying to hear that, see?  (I would like to add that I was falling all over myself apologizing.  It's not as if I think because my son is autistic that he can put his hands on other people.)  And then it happened.  I burst into tears.
     I am not a "cryer."  I cry maybe ever two or three months, and it's usually when I'm by myself.  I'm not one to just get all slobbery and crap in front of people.  But something snapped in me, and I started bawling like a baby.  I was so embarrassed.  I kept apologizing for my tears, while simultaneously issuing those gulping sobs that toddlers are known for.  But, despite my humiliation, it was the best thing that could have happened.  Because this man was a good, old boy.  And good, Southern boys can't stand to see women crying.  Even when they are the reason for the tears.  Maybe especially when they are the reason. 
     So my tears where clearly magical, and we never heard anything else from this man.  The next day his kid grabbed another girl's butt.  Apparently this was an issue all week, for several of the kids in Skeletor's class.  In fact, his teacher dubbed the week "Pervapalooza," which I think is entirely amazing.  Anyway, sorry for the super duper gargantuan size post, but I needed to let this out into the interwebs.  I promise I will keep my next few posts all tiny and delicate and bite-sized.