Race relations courtesy of Radcliffe

For those of you who are friends with me on Facebook, you’ve already heard this story, but I’ve been meaning to add it on here. Everyone else– prepare to feel embarrassed for me.

I had to take Radcliffe to the neurologist for a check up. He was insistent on wearing a costume. When he showed me what he picked out, I said: ‘Son, they’ve got your number a mile away.’

The waiting room at the neurologists’ office is not solely for their patients. No, I should be so lucky. Instead, it’s a hodgepodge of other offices with all of their patients, just waiting to pass judgement.

True to form, Radcliffe yells out that ‘he has a friend that sits at my table that keeps telling me she’s black, but I keep telling her she is BROWN.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Lots and lots of looks..

Then, he starts singing very loudly about pink eye and he found a reflex hammer and starts hammering the baseboards. We finally get into a room (I think they must’ve kicked out another patient so they could hide him) and when the doctor walked in, Rex was standing on the exam table, hammering the lone nail in the wall. She wanted to know if he was on medication, because we might need to discuss an adjustment.

At the end of it, he says: ‘It’s like I died and went to heaven, except you’re here.’

He thinks I’m going to hell, but I think I’m headed towards saint status….

One thought on “Race relations courtesy of Radcliffe

  1. Hi! Found you through the Blog U group! I love your story. My six-year-old talks about his “brown friend” from kindergarten all the time. Your Rex sounds like a fascinating child and I’m looking forward to reading more. See you at BlogU!

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