“Mo has been a torn on my side since I gave birth to him. Because of that, I’ve lost many happy years that I will never get back”, Mo’s mom lamented as she gazed out the bus we were riding. The words were a complete disconnect from the fresh and pleasant air that I was breathing. The ocean was not more than a few hundred feet away as we rode down the coast.
“Many years ago on a bus not any different than this”, she began, “I first observed that Mo was not like any ordinary kid. He couldn’t have been more than 13 years old at the time. That day, I had a day-off so I went and took Mo on a “bus ride” up and down the coast all the way to Long Beach. As you can tell, it is kind of cooped up in this bus and that set the stage for one of the most disastrous afternoons of my life”.
“That morning he was complaining of a bad bellyache. Most times it’s enough to just give him a belly rub with some mineral oil to make the discomfort go away. I used to marvel at the unusual shape of his stomach. It reminded me of the helmet of a Nazi soldier during the dark days of World War II. Nevertheless, I offered to cancel the trip but he said that he was going to be ok. As soon as we got on the bus I knew there was something wrong because the kid was unusually quiet. Usually, he would get himself in the trouble if you just leave him by himself. We were riding along and without warning the bus hit a really nasty pothole. That was when the trouble started. It was so bad that most of the passengers flew out of their seats by about a foot. The sudden jerk must have put some pressure on his belly that something had to give. And from the little kid came the most unassuming sound that anyone could ever have heard”.
POOOOOOOOOTT, was the sound Mo made.
“The kid had cut the cheese in the most severe way. One moment I was breathing the nice and healthy air of the blue Pacific and the next I was gagging and coughing on some putrid and noxious fume that was the product of my own son’s stomach. All of a sudden we were in a Nazi Gas Chamber on wheels under the baking sun traversing the Pacific Coast of Southern California”.
“The scene inside the bus became one of chaos. The babies were crying, kids were running trying to escape the headache inducing scent. Heads were hanging out of the bus braving on-coming traffic in an attempt to escape the shroud of terror. Some were coughing and some were passing out. People were organizing a lynch mob in the event they found the perpetrator. After I came to, because I momentarily lost consciousness, I noticed another young kid standing in the isle pointing at Mo trying to give everyone an idea who the perpetrator was. There was another man sitting in front of us wearing a shirt that said “Old Men Rule” that was sleeping with his head tilted all the way back and his mouth open. I couldn’t tell whether his condition was caused by Mo’s event or that he was just tired. A small group had already gathered and was ready to exact some vigilante punishment. Without missing a beat, Mo started crying in an attempt to get sympathy from the angry crowd. Realizing it wasn’t working he then stood up and said, “It wasn’t me, it was this man” pointing at the slumberous man in front of us – deflecting the accusations. In an instant, all eyes had shifted from Mo to the helpless defenseless and sleeping man”.
“What happened to the man is such a bad memory that I do not wish to repeat it. But what I learned was how Mo enjoyed watching all the passengers experience misery. After the crowd picked up the sleeping man from his seat, Mo turned to me with a contented smirk and gave me a wink and said, “Look what I did, Mom”. My heart sank and I couldn’t say a word. The kid had turned into a mother’s worst nightmare. As early as 13 years old there were already signs that the kid was going to turn into a monster when he grows up. As soon as I got home, I purchased a 12 pack of Pepto-Bismol and every time he complains about his stomach at least I have something strong to give him. I make him drink one bottle every time he complains about his stomach so that the ordeal on the bus will never be repeated. That Devil Boy has been a big problem ever since he came into this world and I'm not really sure there is enough of that pink stuff - Pepto-Bismol - in the world to neutralize him one bit”.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
