The best invention of the 21st century

Sometimes I wish that I could advertise a warning over my head in red LED lights:  "Danger! Change the topic!"  Wouldn't that be one of the best inventions of the twenty-first century?

I try not to mention my son when I meet new people.  If they ask about children, I keep my information as brief as possible.  Those who know me well, and therefore know about the situation with my son, understand how raw it is for me to talk about him.

One of the biggest challenges for me in this regard has been lining up new health care providers for my disability.  My initial injury happened over 23 years ago, when I was pregnant with my son.  Every provider wants to know how long I have been dealing with the pain of my injuries.  I tell them how I fell down an escalator when I was five months pregnant.  And since most people think it is the polite thing to do, they will ask about him.

When strangers ask me questions about my son, I put on my fake smile and say that he's out on his own.  If they ask more questions I will finally bare the ugly truth that no one wants to hear, "We are not on speaking terms right now."  Most people will take the hint and say something like, "That's too bad."  The smart ones will see the pained look in my eyes, and they'll move on to another topic.  The "nice" ones will offer words of encouragement.  They may point out that he is young and that he'll probably grow out of it.  On a rare occasion some will try to offer me unsolicited advice!

Unless you have suffered a major rift with someone you love, or unless you know someone well who has, you have no idea what this feels like.  I don't want to be rude to you.  But if you insist on offering me too many platitudes or, worse yet, presumptive advice, my smile becomes brilliant but tighter while my eyes try to fire lasers through you as I say, "I would prefer not to discuss it further."

Instead of making me feel gut wrenching pain.  Instead of you feeling awkward.  Or, instead of forcing me to be blatantly rude to you.  As soon as you ask about my parental status or about my son in specific, I could sereptitiously tap on a button behind my ear which would light up the sign over my head.  The sign would stay on for thirty seconds and then would take another thirty seconds to fade away.

Think of all the awkward conversations such an invention would end.  Maybe I should file some patent documents this week, before one of you steals my gold mine of an idea for an invention.