A Loverly Day for a Picnic - Or a Hangin'

This afternoon the R.A.'s school (Institute of Earth Indoctrination) held its family fall picnic.  As expected the R.A. was thrilled by the occasion and had a terrific time - not.  Well, unless scowling and yowling dolefully yet angrily means one is having the time of one's life.  I don't think that is even the case on the home planet.

We knew it would be a bumpy ride when the R.A., led by one of his teachers (captors), came out of the school building glowering furiously while simultaneously caterwauling and covering his ears.  When my husband and I appeared the R.A. looked even more hacked off.  If there was a speech bubble over his head it would have read, "Great.  There's a tent on the front lawn when clearly there shouldn't be and it's stuffed with all these weird strangers and now these two, weirder and stranger than all the rest, arrive.  What fresh hell is this?"

As it was so close to "Grandparents Day" (another Hallmark manufactured bogus holiday) the school encouraged families to invite grandparents to the picnic.  My mother promptly generated three excuses as to why she could not attend. One was actually valid (Sorry, Mom, we know you do speak English, fluently, so lapsing into faux Bulgarian was a waste of time as was feigning death) so she got out of it.   Unfortunately my husband's parents were not as quick with their excuses and got roped into the picnic.  At least they got free meals out of it and the weather held.  Happy Grandparents' Day!

Grudgingly the R.A. sat with us, intermittently yowling and scrupulously avoiding eye contact.  If anyone did attempt conversation he would growl angrily or ignore the remark and energetically peer around the person as if to say, "Whatever is out there is much, much, much more interesting than you.  Oh, look!  A tree stump!  Riveting!"

Once my husband and I determined we spent enough time "visiting" with the R.A. to satisfy school staff who were probably grading us on our interactions with our son (no doubt we failed spectacularly), we left the food tent and took the R.A. outside.  The R.A.'s favorite activity at the June picnic was the bouncy houses.  He so enjoyed jumping that he refused to come out of one of them when his turn was done and my husband was forced to climb inside and wrangle him out.  Luckily for us it was about 100 degrees and 93 % humidity that day!  Therefore, based on this past experience which indicated to us that the R.A. liked the bouncy houses, we took him to one of the bouncy houses.  As we approached the bouncy house the R.A.'s bitter caterwaulings transformed into caterwauls of joy.  Gleefully he removed his sneakers and in his excitement almost removed his socks and pants.  The R.A. then launched himself onto the attached inflatable ramp that leads into the bouncy house.  And then he stayed there, refusing to actually enter the bouncy house.  The R.A. intended to spend his bouncy time on the ramp not inside the house.  I don't know if he saw it as his own personal piece of bouncy real estate or suddenly had a yen for outside bouncing but the R.A. desisted entering the bouncy house.  Obviously my husband and I figured it must have something to do with that particular bouncy house so we tried the two other bouncy houses.  But no.  The inflatable ramp preference was assigned to all the bouncy houses.  My husband and I were desperate to get the R.A. inside a bouncy house as we thought (stupidly) that once we could get him inside the bouncy house he would recall that he liked it.  The R.A., however, would not cross the threshold of the bouncy house entrance, firmly staying on the ramp.  At one point he was crouched on all fours with his head at the entrance and I barked at my husband, "Just push him in!"  I believe that the fact that we were surrounded by school staff intimidated my husband and he refused.  I was so frantic that had my hands not been full of sweaters, water bottles, and the R.A.'s backpack, I would have given him a firm shove.

Much to the R.A.'s dismay we did not allow him to remain on the ramp.  He was unconcerned that he was blocking the way for the other children to enter and leave the bouncy house.  I guess the R.A. figured that was their problem.  Finally we had to physically remove him from the bouncy area.  As my husband and I tried to determine our next course of action, the R.A. yowled in fierce indignation - I believe it was something along the lines of - "How dare you, you backward flibbertygibbets!  How dare you manhandle me in such an undignified fashion!  Do you know who I am?!"  He then grabbed my sweater, threw it on the ground and then plopped on top of it - an apparent act of vengeance against me, his bouncy ramp oppressor.  It's as they say on the home planet - vengeance is a sweater best sat upon.  My husband was lucky to be sweaterless  and so escaped unscathed.

I then tried to distract him from his crabbiness with a sno-cone.  The fact that I went the sno-cone route clearly demonstrates my high level of anxiety as the combination of the R.A. and a sno-cone is not pleasant for his caregiver.  Surprisingly enough, the R.A. does not consume a sno-cone as your A-typical earthling would.  For starters, he refuses to hold the sno-cone which means the parent must hold it and periodically squat down to present it to him.  The R.A. then quickly darts his tongue in the sno-cone concoction and quickly withdraws his tongue.  In all, after about 45 minutes, he has licked maybe 8 bits of shaved ice.  At this juncture the ice has melted leaving mostly the syrup which the R.A. finds offensive.  He then proceeds to order his caregiver to get the galling item out of his sight, immediately if not sooner.

Sadly, the sno-cone lacked its usual magical delight.  It did not deter the R.A. from his churlishness.  We moved on to the arts and crafts table.  Perhaps the R.A. was feeling more introspective because as he worked on slapping stickers on a small white gourd, his yowling was not quite as surly.  It was only when his work of art was completed that his rabid caterwauling resumed.  Staff must have been as desperate as we were as they quickly presented another gourd for the R.A. to decorate.  If the gourd art is any indication of the R.A.'s emotions, he is seriously pissed off.  Really?  He hides it so well!  Thank the Kitchen God he has his art to express himself.

We were honestly surprised by the R.A.'s unhappiness as compared to his behavior at the June picnic.  After thinking a bit I realized that my daughter had attended that picnic.  Sometimes the R.A. is calmer at functions that she attends.  He sees her do something and then is more inclined to also participate.  I believe what happens is, she enters the breech first and if she isn't poisoned, beheaded, or made to listen to bad 70's easy listening rock music, the R.A. feels safe and will follow.  She's the Odie to his Garfield.

Fortunately we only have to wait one month (exactly one month) until the school's Harvest Dance.  Should the R.A.'s current sentiment regarding social functions continue at its current level, I'm guessing he will arrive with a shiv he made from a Pringles container.

Finger Licking Good!

It's official.  I am a nitwit.  Although, if you have been following this blog you have probably honed in on that within a couple of postings.

In the R.A.'s opinion, I am now too stupid to eat without a food coach.  No, I don't mean someone to work with me on planning healthy meals. I literally mean too stupid to engage in the act of consuming food.

Tonight the R.A. actually coached me through my dinner.  He paced in front of me while I ate - back and forth, back and forth, never taking his eyes off my dish or me.  Occasionally the R.A. would stop - I am assuming to check my progress.  As he is so detail oriented, a mere glance at my plate was not enough.  The R.A. would stop pacing and lean over my dish, effectively blocking me not only access but a view, his face mere inches from my food.  After assessing the situation he would then straighten up, jump up and down and flap while caterwauling, obviously offering me direction:

"I want you to slice here, like this.  No, no, no!  Aren't you following?  Good Kitchen God, there are juice boxes that are more astute than you!"

"Well?  Are you gonna chew or are you posing for animal crackers?"

"What are you doing?  Are you taking a drink?  You've ruined the symmetry of the moment!"

Apparently my glass of milk very much offended the R.A.  I don't know what the glass of milk did, but at one point it received a very loud and very furious dressing down.  Unfortunately, following the vicious reprimand the R.A. deemed the glass as being insolent and it and the R.A. almost engaged in a shoving match.

At one point my insertion of food into my own mouth was determined to be sub par and the R.A. attempted to not only put food in my mouth but also tried to manipulate my tongue.  Or perhaps having ascertained that it was actually my tongue that was gumming up the works he may have been trying to remove my tongue.

Oddly enough I am now battling a case of indigestion.  I can't for the life of me think why...

Code No Please!

Membership in the Special Needs Club is not exclusive, especially if you are a card carrying member of the Autism Spectrum Division.  It seems that nowadays one can't walk 50 paces without tripping over someone on the spectrum - even less paces at my house and it would probably also include a shove. 

There's a saying, if you've met one person on the autism spectrum, you've met one person on the autism spectrum.  The autism experience also varies from family to family.  Parents sometimes have differing opinions on autism topics. For example, there is the whole issue of "labeling." Some parents don't want their kids coded, believing a label might limit their child's potential or make the child feel different.  That's their decision.  But let me just say this and then I'll shut up about it.  If a parent thinks that strategy will keep his kid from being labeled, think again.  It's just that instead of being labeled by a developmental pediatrician, your kid will be labeled by some other kid at school.  I personally would rather someone trained in child development assign a label to my kid. Plus that way you've got a better shot at getting a good out of school placement.  Okay, I will shut up about that now.

Other parents don't mind the label.  I fall into that category because let's face it, the minute someone sees the R.A. toe jumping, flapping for Britain, and caterwauling, the cat's pretty much out of the bag.  There's no "passing" for neurotypical.

I'm pretty up front about the R.A.'s autism.  Frankly I think it's due to habit.  It's the culmination of years spent chasing after a sprinting, yowling, "dead-set-on-destruction" R.A. while I bellow, "He has autism!"  It's really more of a warning to the innocent bystanders at the park, the beach, the mall, etc.  It's sort of like, "The British are coming!" or "Man your battle stations!" or "Danger, Will Robinson!"

I have no qualms telling people the R.A. has autism.  I recall after one particularly harrowing church experience I turned to my husband and said I wished I could put the R.A. in a sandwich board.  One side would say, "I have autism."  The other side would say, "What's your *@$%# problem?"  My husband put the kibosh on that idea, pointing out: 1. the R.A. would never leave the sandwich board on as it would impede climbing 2. the R.A. couldn't wear something that had *@$%# on it to church.  I countered that *@$%# wasn't a real swear word.  My husband counter-countered that even implied swear words count at church.  Sulkily I conceded.  *@$%#!

Confession time.  Occasionally, at the park or beach, I won't broadcast that the R.A. has autism because I enjoy seeing the puzzled expressions on the other parents' faces as they observe his antics. Their bewilderment is amusing. ( I also have a t-shirt that has a picture of 19th century armed Native Americans that has the caption, "Homeland Security.  Fighting Terrorism Since 1492."  I like it because it makes white people uncomfortable. *@$%# that nasty streak!)

Olympic Fever

Like most people, the R.A. is also suffering from "Olympic Fever."  We discovered the R.A.'s interest in the games of the 30th Olympiad when we noticed him watching the events with great attentiveness despite the fact that there was no ticker tape scrolling across the bottom of the screen.  He has two favorite Olympic viewing positions:

1. Jumping up and down in front of the television, yowling, while intermittently flapping his hands and flicking the TV screen
2. Sitting quietly on the couch, so absorbed in the action that he momentarily forgets his disdain for earthling protocol and thus looks like a "regular" earth person at repose, as opposed to his usual R.A. self

The R.A.'s favorite events, in no particular order are:
1. Platform diving
2. Springboard diving
3. Gymnastics

Whether jumping or sitting, the events hold the R.A.'s rapt attention and he thoroughly dislikes being interrupted while watching the Olympics.  When I do have the galling temerity to interfere with his viewing he snaps in Yowlish at me.  In English it roughly translates to: "For Kitchen God's sake, woman, zip it!  Can't you see I'm busy? I'm trying to understand this guy's technique for throwing himself off the diving platform.  How do you expect me to duplicate the same move from the top of the china cabinet?  You're so needy!  Take your own damn allergy medicine!"

We have determined that the R.A.'s engrossment in the Olympics is not in the interest of entertainment.  It's mayhem research.

During the Olympics there's been this one commercial that they've been airing about U.S. gymnast, Jonathan Horton. In the ad the narrator tells the story about how when Jonathan was four years old he climbed to the ceiling of a department store so his parents got him gymnastics lessons.  Every time my husband and I see that commercial we shudder.  We can't help think what it would have been like if we got "formal" gymnastics lessons for the R.A.  Wouldn't that be like giving the Green Goblin access to the Bat Lair?  Yes, I'm mixing my comics, but you get my point - don't empower someone with already freakishly potent skills.  I could see the television commercials for the R.A.:

When the R.A. was four years old, after two weeks of formal gymnastics training, he scaled the side of his house while clutching his sister's pet fish between his toes.  After one month of formal gymnastics training the R.A. absconded to Paris and was found dangling from the Eiffel Tower from one foot while clutching his sister's replacement fish in his other foot and demanding chips and juice from his father.

 I've been thinking about what the Olympics must be like on the home planet.  I'm sure quite different from earth competitions.  Remember - those people are like ancient Spartans on steroids but not as gentle, easy going or pleasant.  I'm pretty certain that there are no silver or bronze medals.  On the home planet there are no medals for "almost winning."  I would also bet that the losers do not go home in shame because as soon as they lose events they are beheaded.  There is no, "We'll get them next time" on the home planet.

Here are some events that I imagine make up the home planet competition:

1. Chinning: Refer to the entry, "Chin Chin Cheroo" for a description of this event.

2. Toe Jumping: Like earthling running events, Toe Jumpers could compete against each other for endurance (like distance runners) or speed (like sprinters.) -

WM476@#% is the reigning galactic toe jumping champion.  He took the event at the last Intergalactic Games.  All eyes are on him, seeing if he can pull off a repeat performance.  I guess we need to ask, how badly does he not want to be beheaded?

We should note that *!n74400X^ missed the last Galaxy Games due to a freak training accident during which she ricocheted into the training television that she was simultaneously flapping in front of.  

3. Hand Flapping/Finger Flicking: As with our earthling gymnastics, I would think these events would be based on judges' scores of performance and technique -

He is attempting a very daring "Flap-Flap-Triple Flick-Flap-Flick-Flap.  This is where we will see just how good his technique is.  Only one other athlete, ^^@,?0023B, has attempted such a move in competition and as we all know, he ended up with two sprained wrists which I'm sure didn't seem so painful once they lopped his head off.

That was a very innovative routine.  Now we will see if the judges appreciated her incorporation of an inverted Flick-Flick-Tap.  Perhaps it's just too avant-garde.

4. Large Gourd Wrangling: Refer to the entry, "Trick or Trick" for a description of this event.

One thing's for sure, the closing ceremony must be really brief because there probably aren't very many athletes left.  Bloody but brief.

Not for Those With Weak Constitutions

Or how my family is usually introduced to strangers!  Oh snap!


Yet sadly true...

Actually, this posting is really is about a topic that might cause those with weak constitutions to have an attack of the "vapors."  To put it delicately, I'm talking about boof and poop.  When it comes to vomit and other bodily excrement, my husband and I have become rather cavalier in our attitude.  In one month we have probably cleaned up more of the aforementioned than most people clean in a year. A disturbing yet proud accomplishment.  Boof and poop are such an integral part of our lives that we have the clean up down to a science.  For example, a couple of weeks back I rode in a charity bicycle event with a couple of friends.  After the event there was a cookout for participants and their families.  My husband and the R.A. joined us.  We were talking with one of my friends when the R.A. commenced with one of his "pre" boof coughs.  Alerted,  my husband and I quickly moved into our vomit defense stances.  First we swiftly navigated the R.A. away from my friends' plates and cups.  We might live a chaotic life but it hasn't dampened our sense of good manners.  While my husband positioned the R.A. in such a way as to limit the amount of throw up on his (the R.A.'s) clothes, I grabbed a handful of napkins from the buffet tent.  Once we were certain the R.A. had completed his act of reverse peristalsis, we used a nearby bottle of water to wet the R.A. down and clean him up.  Fortunately I had brought an extra t-shirt and we slapped that on the R.A.  Mind you, this whole endeavor took less than ten minutes, during which time my husband and I never ceased conversing with my friend.  She would keep saying things like, "Uh, we can talk later" or "It looks like you're pretty busy now" and we blithely reassured her that we had things under control.  Come to think of it, she did look pretty horrified by the entire thing which is pretty remarkable considering she is legally blind... If I was someone who wasted time with introspection I would investigate this.  But nope, I am not.


So moving along...

Anyway, my husband and I have become extremely skilled when it comes to these matters.   I like to think of us as an elite tactical Boof Removal Unit.

The past few nights this week the R.A. has been battling his environmental allergies.  Unfortunately for him, the environment is winning and we've had a couple of incidents of allergy barfing.  An incident earlier this week made a causality out of his Thomas the Tank Engine bed linens condemning this intergalactic war monger to sleeping on Disney Princess sheets.  

This morning the R.A. was up at 1:27 AM due to coughing which then caused him to boof all over himself.   Without a word to each other, my husband and I popped out of bed and went into action.  As this vomit event woke the R.A. up, in addition to throwing up he was also yowling in rage at being woken up.  My husband snatched him from his room and placed him in the bathroom, moving rapidly to decrease the amount of throw up trailage.  Although the R.A. was determined to climb into the tub to continue barfing, we managed to keep him confined to a little rug.  When we were confident the spewage had finished, we peeled his clothes off and put him in the tub.  There the R.A. continued to rage.  At this point his anger was increased  because he was rubbing vomit into his own eyes and by the Kitchen God he did not like it!  The R.A. was also further infuriated by my attempts to keep him from rubbing the boof into his eyes.  Greco Roman Baby Wrestling is fun on most days but throw in some throw up and it's triple the delight.  While I wrangled/showered the R.A. down, my husband went on vomit recon. in the R.A.'s room.  For someone so small who doesn't appear to consume much food, the R.A. vomits like a 7 foot,  4 inch, 345 lb. hung over longshoreman.  Let me just say that sometimes his room looks like something out of "The Exorcist" and we'll leave it at that (you're welcome, America!)  At 1:40 AM I pulled the still "gently" caterwauling R.A. from the shower.  Now he was annoyed with me because he was enjoying the shower and I was killing his good time.

Following these late night/early morning impromptu vomit/bathing episodes, the R.A. refuses to go back to his room, instead insisting on coming into our room.  Perhaps in Little Capernicus' mind if he's up, we're all up.  Fortunately the R.A. was quite refreshed after his "nap" and bracing shower and proceeded to yowl loudly and jump up and down in our bed from 1:40 AM to about 4:30 AM after which my husband tussled the R.A. back into his own room and lay down with him so I could try and get some sleep.  As the morning was still young, the R.A. then proceeded to jump up and down and yowl in his own room so loudly I couldn't sleep.  He finally exhausted himself at 6 AM and fell asleep until 9:30 AM.  Yes, part of me did want to go in and jump up and down on his bed and yowl loudly.  Lucky for him I was too tired to attempt such a thing.

Of course I had a program at work this morning.  I was bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to tackle the day.  Not.  I was bleary eyed, droopy tailed and yes, I was ready to tackle the day and then wrestle it to the ground, punch it repeatedly, kick it senseless and give it a bone crushing throttle.  Due to my lack of sleep I was a fun cocktail of exhaustion and crabbiness.

Today's program was an homage to the ancient Olympics and the kids' teams represented original Greek city-states - Athens, Sparta, Corinth, and Argos.  I was so punchy that I kept mixing up the teams, causing the kids to declare indignantly, "I play for Argos!" or "I'm an Athenian!"  At one point I snapped at a kid, "Listen, it doesn't matter.  Eventually Greece is going to end up having one of the weakest economies in the E.U. and practically on the verge of a financial collapse!"  I know, rough talk.  I told you I was crabby.

I believe the Kitchen God said it best in his sermon on the Eiffel Tower: 


Blessed are the sleep deprived for they shall be easy to conquer.  And we shall know them by their extreme under-eye bags and mismatched footwear.

What Are Those Things?

One of the most interesting earthlings the R.A. knows is his uncle.  They do this mind meld thing where his uncle bows his head and the R.A., from wherever he is, trots over to him and then they press their foreheads together.  His uncle currently lives on the West Coast and after six months returned home for a visit.  We were all a bit curious about how the R.A. would respond to him after such a long absence.  When his uncle entered the house the R.A. was in another room.  But the R.A. heard him, raced into the kitchen, and they mind melded. The R.A. was quite excited and yowled in delight.  I think it roughly translated into, "Thank the Kitchen God you are here!  I've been dying of boredom!  I can't wait to be entertained by you, you fascinating creature!"  As far as the mind melding thing goes,  I would say that there is an exchange of information going on but I don't know how large a deposit my brother has in his brain.  Surely it must be depleted by now.

The new thing after the mind meld is an examination of sorts.  After a bit of mind melding,  the R.A. then pokes his fingers over his uncle's hair deficient head.  Then the R.A. takes his fingers and runs them through his own crew cut.  He wears an expression that says, "Hmmm.  Very interesting." This is  repeated  several times.  Next the R.A. explores his uncle's very robust eyebrows.  Following a thorough exam the R.A. then touches his own rather paltry-by-comparison eyebrows.  At this point he visually appraises his uncle's eyebrows, his expression reading, "What is up with those?"  The R.A. appears very confused by the lack of hair on his uncle's head and the surplus of hair on his eyebrows.  It's like he's thinking, "Isn't that backwards?"

The examination of his uncle's eyebrows has re-ignited an interest in eyebrows in general and the R.A. has taken to studying pretty much any set he can get his chubby fingers on.  We have concluded that there are no such things as eyebrows on the home planet.  As the R.A. also has sporadic interest in arm hair we wonder if there is no such thing as body hair in general on the home planet.  So apparently they are a ferocious but clean shaven people.  I'm picturing Sphynx cats wearing helmets. 

The R.A. at rest after the invasion of earth - his father/man servant is the one taking the photo after which he resumes arranging his master's nuggets and fries.  (The Mommy Lady has been vaporized - at least she hopes to the Kitchen God she has been.)

Teeth also are of desultory curiosity for the R.A.  If the spirit moves him, he will attempt to study the teeth of whatever poor slob is within his arm's reach.  And no, it doesn't matter if the poor slob's mouth is full of food at the moment the R.A. gets a hankering for some teeth work.  Word of advice - at the first onset of the impromptu oral check up we recommend spitting the food out as opposed to choking on it.  Choking does not halt the dental inspection. In fact, the R.A. will regard the choking as an act of insubordination.

If a person is lucky, the R.A.'s sister is within arm's length as she possesses his favorite teeth.  The R.A.'s examination of her teeth is quite thorough.  It's almost as if he is tracking the progress of them- "Why yes, those bottom ones are coming in nicely.  Now let's see what is happening with that bicuspid."   I think her teeth are of particular interest as her oral situation is ever changing.  Teeth are coming and going at all hours of the day and night.  It's like some sort of dental serial - "Will Sissy's front tooth be in by Christmas?  Will the dentist cap her back left molar?  Tune in next time, for only the R.A. knows (and Sissy's dentist)!"

This keen interest in teeth also makes me wonder if perhaps, like Hermie the Elf, the R.A., groomed to be the fiercest of intergalactic warmongers, harbors a secret dental desire - "The R.A. wants to be a dentist!"

I've Got the Music in Me (or Maybe On Me)

Lately, life has been even more challenging for the R.A.  As we've started his new food program, we've taken away one of his few pleasures in life - his beloved McD fries and nuggets.  It also has not been exactly a barrel of laughs for the rest of us either.  The R.A. spends much of his limited free time following us around demanding "Feh fies."  He's so desperate that he's even resorted to being nice about it, adopting a Precious Moments expression and asking in a soft voice, "Feh fies?  Feh fies?"  It's really rather pathetic, like something out of a special needs Oliver Twist.  It is sad to see the once mighty war monger so terribly reduced to borderline use of good manners.  It's akin to Genghis Khan saying, "Pardon me" after beheading someone just for the fun of it.  It's not natural.

Car trips, long or short, have also been affected.  Anytime we pass a McD the R.A. keens mightily and presses his hands and face against the window.  My husband says it reminds him of one of those Garfield car window ornaments but "yowlier."

The whole situation is extremely distressing for the R.A.  To relieve the stress he has devised a new "stim."  The R.A. has occasionally covered his ears with his hands when assaulted with displeasing noises or even more displeasing edicts from his caregivers.  He has now expanded this action to create what we delicately refer to as "ear farts."  The R.A. takes his hands that are covering his ears and presses them on and off his ears, rather quickly thus formulating the fart sounds.  For someone with such dainty ears he can really rock it.  Dopes that we are, it took us a while to catch on.  We just thought he was having a bit of a bout with gas.  Of course we finally cracked the case in the middle of lunch at a restaurant and proceeded to howl with laughter which only caused the poor R.A. to engage in what can only be described as the "speed metal" equivalent of ear farts.  I think his tag line for ear farts is, "When simply blocking out the noise isn't enough."

Perhaps the R.A. is on to something.  We should get him on those Sunday morning political round table programs.  After someone like the Speaker of the House (John Boehner) pontificates about why it's so darn important to give tax breaks to the uber wealthy, George Stephanopoulos can then turn and say, "Let's hear what the R.A. thinks of that."  And the R.A. will then ear fart for Britain or maybe in this case ear fart for America (I can totally see that on a bumper sticker - "I Ear Fart for America.")

We will have to be careful regarding when and where the R.A. engages in his ear fart symphonies.  For example, it would be quite embarrassing for him to let loose when Fr. Carlos announces a second collection at Mass.

As that great sage, Uncle Ben said to Peter Parker, "With great power comes great responsibility."