To my horror, as we walked in, there were at least a dozen or more women in the bathroom and probably twice that many younger girls of every age. There were even a few very young boys in there, but none were even close to my age.
As we walked in, a girl who looked to be seven or eight, squealed and shouted, “Mommy there is a boy in here!” and then jumped into the only unoccupied stall.
Every eye in the place turned in our direction, but Mom ignored them all as she opened the diaper changing station. I hadn’t noticed her doing that, because I was too busy having a full-on brain aneurysm. Of course, I’m exaggerating a little, but not by much.
However, I think I really lost it when Mom sang out like she was Mary Poppins’, “Come on my sweet, sweet boy. Let momma help you up.”
My face, my ears, even my neck felt hot, as my heart went into overdrive to pump every ounce of blood in my body up to my head.
I heard another girl say, “Mommy look, I think that boy is wearing a diaper.” I can only assume that it was her mother who said, “Cindy, it’s not nice to point and stare at disabled people.”
“Disabled people?” I thought, “I’m not disabled!”
Mom strained to lift me up to the changing table, but I was too heavy for her. “Alvin sweaty, you need to help mommy.” She said, but she might as well have saved her breath, because I’d checked out of my body and was floating somewhere near the ceiling.