July 7, 2009
No, actually, please don’t.
I don’t know who originally thought this would be a tough and cool thing to say, but whoever it was has not been bitten. I, thankfully, have only been bitten twice in my life. Both times by humans, both times by children, and actually both times at the same place.
Today was the second of its kind.
As some of you know, I am currently working at a summer program for kids with autism and other disabilities. It’s kind of, or completely (actually) amazing, and one of my favorite places in the entire world. I have yet to experience the camp (which I will lead the music for Tues-Fri), but today I subbed as a TA at the school site. The site containing my extensive bite history.
The day started out lovely (actually, it started out with a bite. One of our guys bit another little guy in the first 5 minutes, but we’ll pretend that didn’t happen to make my bite more dramatic… thanks.) But my little friend, we’ll call him Blake (Hippa, his name isn’t Blake), came in uncontrollably giggling. Now he’s normally a pretty positive guy, but not this giggly. He was giggling and laughing and looking at the ceiling, which got me looking at the ceiling half expecting to see Steve Carell up there in his Michael Scott glory (which I know totally would have amused “Blake.” That or a bubble… either one). Anyway, there was no Steve Carell, or bubble for that matter, and he continued giggling for most of the morning. It was a happy morning.
Lunch went well. Playtime went well. He raced me all over the school (intentially taking advantage of my bum knee which any non-verbal child with autism would do–please, please sense the sarcasm) and we swung on the swing (which any person with autism or myself, would truly do). So after our swings and running, we were tired. The whole class went in to rest.
Blake laid on his back with his foot up on his knee, looking angelic, so I joined him. Pretty soon, another friend, we’ll call him “Scooter” (Hippa, his name is not Scooter), joined us, and snuggled up with me on the other side. It was all too cute. And everyone (but me) knew it wouldn’t last.
As I remember it (the details are a bit hazy and it happened so fast), Blake instantly changed into a werewolf, complete with fangs and fur, and bit me right in the arm. I thought he was gonna pull the arm right off, so I very calmly said, “Dear Blake. Please stop. I thought we were friends. You wouldn’t want to eat your friend, would you?” translation: “There is no biting.” But there was biting, and he didn’t really let go, so my calmness turned a little panicky, and maybe a not-so-pleasant word came out of my mouth as I called for help from staff.
After which, Super Katie (Hippa, that is her name, but she’s my co-worker, so it’s okay, right?), came to the rescue and removed the Blake-turned-werewolf, or “Blake-wolf” from my arm. My super-elasticky skin survived. No blood. No puncture. Just an amazing bruise, that I’m actually really excited about.. Don’t tell Blake. I really don’t want another one…
Anyway, the next time someone says “bite me,” do it. Bite the person who so carelessly used that phrase. They will never say it again.