Rocky, as I have said, was diagnosed with attachment disorder. His disorder is now considered to be resolving, but he still has a diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity.
Last week, I parked on the street in front of his scoutmaster's house to drop him off for a meeting. This decision on my part started a chain reaction of illogical events.
Rocky hopped out of the van and raced down the sidewalk, past the scoutmaster's house, to the NEIGHBOR'S house. I started honking my horn, but he ignored me, thinking I was saying an enthusiastic goodbye.
He said he went to the other house because the neighbors had more cars in their driveway. To make matters worse, Rocky ignored all his previous manners training and didn't knock at the wrong house--he just opened the door and thundered into the front hall. Then he froze.
The family, a mom, a dad, and two toddlers, was sitting around their kitchen table eating supper; they, too, froze when Rocky walked in. It isn't every day a black kid waltzes into someone else's house out here.
Rocky asked, "Is this the boy scout meeting?" Oh, duh.
The family stared, forks poised above their plates. One of the little boys began screaming, "A monster! A monster!" Now, I'm not up on these things, but how many monsters are four feet tall and wear cub scout uniforms...
The light finally dawned. Rocky said, stating the obvious, "Uh, wrong house" and backed back out the door. The family stared after him.
Rocky came back down the driveway and zipped back to the van. The girls and I were doubled over laughing.
Tonight I dropped Rocky off again. I was so tempted to drive into the wrong driveway, just to see if the neighbors had started locking their door against marauding monster webelos. However, I restrained myself and parked at the right house.
This one time.