When Morons Attack

On Sunday we drove up to our old stomping grounds, Evanston, and more precisely, Northwestern, for a wedding. It was a rather long day for all of us between getting all dressed up, going to church, rushing home from church to eat, making the drive, and getting a three year old and a baby to sit quietly during a beautiful (long) ceremony, cake reception, and dinner reception. I was exhausted by the time we arrived, really. After the ceremony and cake reception we had to move to a restaurant a few blocks away, and Jeff and Tommy went to pick up the car while Nic and I waited. I decided to cross the street so it would be easier for them to pick us up. While I was walking across the road I noticed that the passengers in car closest to the crosswalk were staring at Nic and me. I know we probably made for a funny picture. I was wearing a nice dress, heels (albeit very low ones), pearls, etc, Nic was in a little pastel suit, and I had him strapped into my Ergo, which didn't exactly match our fancy ensembles.

Anyhow, we crossed the street, and the kids in the car (young boys, probably NU students) continued to stare. Nic and I walked a little further up the street and stopped to wait for Jeff and Tommy. Kids in the car decided it would be a great idea to repeatedly yell at us: "Hey- that's not your baby! That's not your baby!"

Let me tell you how thankful I was that Tommy wasn't with me, since he would actually be able to understand what they were yelling and therefore I would need to quickly come up with a response. I admit that we so rarely face direct criticism that my arsenal of comebacks is rather low. Most negative comments that I field come from people with good intentions who inadvertently use hurtful words (i.e. you're so lucky you got a good one, I had a friend who adopted a child who was so messed up; do you have any children of your own). In situations like those, without intentional hostility, I've found it easier and gentler to redirect comments or suggest kinder words, but this was a horse of a different color. The kids were obviously insulting us, and they were rather far away (hence the yelling) and clearly not interested in educating themselves on the many different ways that families can be formed. Since Nic couldn't understand what was happening, my first instinct was to ignore them and not waste my time or energy shouting back. It wasn't exactly a teachable moment.

Then, mercifully, a man in the car behind the kids yelled at them. I couldn't entirely hear it since he was shouting in their direction and not mine, but it sounded suspiciously like, "Get a life!" My sentiments exactly. I think next time, I'll try that one because frankly, the way that my family was formed should be of no concern to anyone else. Yes, our skin tones don't precisely match. Yes, my boys did not spring forth from my womb. But they are MY children. Nic is my baby. Have a problem with that?

Get a life.