I was telling my friend Mike today about some recent problems my son has been having.
He asked jokingly, "Is he in a gang?"
I responded, "Yeah, the Southside Slap-a-Ho Crew."
Let me backtrack a bit.
I got a call (all these stories about my son seem to all begin with... I got a call... strange) the other day at work. The caller id showed the number to my kid's father's house where they get off the schoolbus. I'm thinking, cool, they're just calling to check in.
Noooooo, the boy is calling to tell me he's in trouble, again.
He began with, "Well, see, what had happened was..."
You know anytime you hear that, you're in for some comedy. And in the boy's case, an ass whoopin'.
"This girl, on the bus, she kept pushing me and I told her to stop but she wouldn't."
I answered slowly, "Okayyyyyy....and?"
"Well, she pushed me on the bus..."
"You already said that. Get to it."
"Well, I told her to stop, then when we were getting off the bus she pushed me again down the steps. I told her again to stop pushing me and that if she pushed me again I was gonna slap her."
Oh Lord.
"Ok, continue."
"Well when I got to the garage door, she pushed me again... and so I slapped her."
Oh LORD.
"But I didn't slap her hard, I really didn't. But she didn't get mad because I slapped her, she got mad because her shoe came off."
"You slapped her so hard her shoe came off Donovan?"
"No, I promise I didn't slap her hard! I don't know what happened to make her shoe fall off but then she picked it up and threw it at me and started crying. That's when Daddy came outside."
"Oh Lord." How many times must I call upon the Lord for this ONE conversation?
I'm thinking that little girl was probably just trying to flirt with him and he went and slapped the shit out of her. People, the days of little notes that say, "I like you, do you like me? Check Yes or No", are GONE. Outta here. Never to be seen again.
Now they say, "I like you, do you like me? Check Yes or Slap a Ho"
I investigated that line of thinking and no, come to find out this little random girl on the bus is actually his cousin (his dad's neice). Great, now I'm prolly gonna have to deal with her mama and we already don't like each other. We just tolerate each other for the sake of the kid's sleepovers, birthday parties, movie dates, etc.
Getting back to the boy... "What did your dad say when he came outside?"
"He told me to call you."
"Wonderful. I'm at work so we'll talk about it when I get home."
Fastforward to my conversation with Mike today...
He asked, "Isn't he too old to be getting spankings?"
I thought, ummm.... My grandmother, and I loved her dearly, used to tell me and my brother we weren't ever going to be too old to catch a beatdown from our parents. That's like an unspoken rule or something in the black community.
I still have to duck shoes and stuff whenever I get on my mother's nerves too bad, so no, he's not too old.
~N
Friday, April 24, 2009
Nature Boy: The Remix
My definition of Unedited = Fuck it. I've been trying to finish this blog for weeks now and stuffs kept getting in the way and my attention diverted. Ignore any and all run-on sentences, made up words and typos so I don't have to cuss you out. Thank you kindly.
***
My son. I love my son. I love my son very much. But the last stunt he pulled... I tell you, ain't nothing stronger than a mother's love, 'cause WHOO!, I came down with a case of AAWDD (Ambidextrial Ass-Whoopin' Disfunctionism Disease) This is what happens when a child is catchin' a beat down so bad that you have to switch the belt to your left hand because you pulled something in your right shoulder.
This also commonly results in PPTSD. In my case that stands for Post-Parental Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Translation, you went bat shit, and I do mean bat-shit- lunatic-type crazy on his ass and scared the hellboy out of him and any other children within a 3 mile radius who just happened to hear.
I'll (try to) get to the point. I got a call one day from the Vice Principal of the school. If you're a parent, you know that when you get a call in the middle of the day from the school VP, something is wrong. Either your kid is really really sick and they want you to come get his ass, or... he's in trouble... and they want you to come get his ass.
The Vice Principal starts out by calmly telling me he's not calling because my child is sick.
Well, it's good to know that my son didn't get a concussion from trying to be superboy and fly, or that he doesn't have an upset stomach from eating all the congealed fruit cups from the lunch line...and that I don't need to come get his ass.
Oh wait.
"I'm calling to let you know I'm going to have to suspend Donovan for one day because of his behavior at recess on the playground."
"Suspend??? What happened!?!" I'm thinking he got in trouble for punching some kid in the face, throat, back of the neck, pituitary gland... All punishable, yet highly understandable offenses... I mean sometimes, SOME kids really do deserve to get punched in the thyroid. I keed, I keed. Kinda... ok, not really.
The VP continues.... "While the kids were on the playground today, Donovan decided to unzip his pants and go pee in the bushes."
Did I hear him right? "What? He did what in the whaa?"
"He unzipped his pants and peed in the bushes."
"You're kidding right?"
"No ma'am. I wish I was. "
Nah, my son didn't whip his little weeter-weeter out on the playground. Not for no reason. Come on now. "Well did you ask him why he did it? Maybe the teacher wouldn't let him go to the bathroom. I've told my kids that if they really have to use the bathroom and the teacher refuses to let them go, to go anyway because they better not come home in any pee-pee clothes. So if that's wh..."
"I'm sorry, but that's not why he did it. That was one of my first questions. I asked him if he asked the teacher if he could go to the bathroom. He said no, he didn't ask. Then I asked him why he just didn't get permission to go inside."
This ain't no damn elementary school soap opera, quit dragging that shit out and tell me.
"He said he didn't feel like walking all the way into the building to use the inside restrooms. It was too far. Now I don't know if he was being a smart aleck or..."
"He said he didn't want to walk that far?" Aw, helllllll no. His little ass is grass. "Oh my God, I am so embarassed. Do I need to come get him?"
I was already shutting my computer down and packing up my shit.
"No, you don't. He can finish out the rest of the day and then begin his suspension tomorrow."
"I don't know what to say. I really don't know what to say. You know what, I'm coming to get him. I am coming to GET him. Right now."
"No, no, he can ride the bus home, it's fine. I'm sure that will give him more time to think about how disappointed you are."
That was School Administrator to Parent code for: You sound like you're going tear his ass up before ya'll even get off school property and I just can't have that so you take this couple hours to calm yo' ass down and then you can beat him till his wheels don't squeak no mo'... when he gets off the bus.
After I got off work and picked the kids up from their dad's house, the silence on the ride home was peppered wtih my son trying to helpful and appreciative.
"Hey mom, how was your day today?"
I didn't even look at him.
"I think when I get home, I'm going to finish cleaning up my room. Yeah, I need to take the trash out too because I forgot to get it this morning. I might even vacuum if you need me to. You just let me know and I'll get it done, ok?"
I gave him nothing.
The twins were each looking out of the window. They knew what was up.
"I might even sweep the porch."
I'ma sweep your porch kid.
When we got home, I had to get the girls ready for a softball game that evening, so I didn't get a chance to sweep. The way I saw it, that was just additional punishment, time he would spend wondering when and where the hailstorm was finally gonna rain down on him.
At the softball game, he was extremely quiet, unnaturally so. My mom and her boyfriend had come and they were trying to gethim to tell them what was wrong. He kept sneaking glances at me, probably surprised I hadn't already told it.
Little did he know, I'd already told my mom. I had to call HER to calm me down after I got off the phone with the vice principal. She was the reason the vp didn't have to call the po-po on me for whooping his ass in the school parking lot. One day he should probably thank her.
Next thing you knew, the game was over. I bet he was thinking, "Man, time sure does fly when you know an ass whoopin is on the horizon! Dang!"
When we got home, we talked about it. You can revisit my earlier paragraphs if you're slow. I don't think he's going to be pulling out his lil' joystick in public ever again.
Pretty soon, I might have to abandon The Retarded Moth Chronicles and start a series on my son. I think I'll begin with a reference an earlier Penis Meets the Outdoors Adventure and call it: Nature Boy.
~N
***
My son. I love my son. I love my son very much. But the last stunt he pulled... I tell you, ain't nothing stronger than a mother's love, 'cause WHOO!, I came down with a case of AAWDD (Ambidextrial Ass-Whoopin' Disfunctionism Disease) This is what happens when a child is catchin' a beat down so bad that you have to switch the belt to your left hand because you pulled something in your right shoulder.
This also commonly results in PPTSD. In my case that stands for Post-Parental Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Translation, you went bat shit, and I do mean bat-shit- lunatic-type crazy on his ass and scared the hellboy out of him and any other children within a 3 mile radius who just happened to hear.
I'll (try to) get to the point. I got a call one day from the Vice Principal of the school. If you're a parent, you know that when you get a call in the middle of the day from the school VP, something is wrong. Either your kid is really really sick and they want you to come get his ass, or... he's in trouble... and they want you to come get his ass.
The Vice Principal starts out by calmly telling me he's not calling because my child is sick.
Well, it's good to know that my son didn't get a concussion from trying to be superboy and fly, or that he doesn't have an upset stomach from eating all the congealed fruit cups from the lunch line...and that I don't need to come get his ass.
Oh wait.
"I'm calling to let you know I'm going to have to suspend Donovan for one day because of his behavior at recess on the playground."
"Suspend??? What happened!?!" I'm thinking he got in trouble for punching some kid in the face, throat, back of the neck, pituitary gland... All punishable, yet highly understandable offenses... I mean sometimes, SOME kids really do deserve to get punched in the thyroid. I keed, I keed. Kinda... ok, not really.
The VP continues.... "While the kids were on the playground today, Donovan decided to unzip his pants and go pee in the bushes."
Did I hear him right? "What? He did what in the whaa?"
"He unzipped his pants and peed in the bushes."
"You're kidding right?"
"No ma'am. I wish I was. "
Nah, my son didn't whip his little weeter-weeter out on the playground. Not for no reason. Come on now. "Well did you ask him why he did it? Maybe the teacher wouldn't let him go to the bathroom. I've told my kids that if they really have to use the bathroom and the teacher refuses to let them go, to go anyway because they better not come home in any pee-pee clothes. So if that's wh..."
"I'm sorry, but that's not why he did it. That was one of my first questions. I asked him if he asked the teacher if he could go to the bathroom. He said no, he didn't ask. Then I asked him why he just didn't get permission to go inside."
This ain't no damn elementary school soap opera, quit dragging that shit out and tell me.
"He said he didn't feel like walking all the way into the building to use the inside restrooms. It was too far. Now I don't know if he was being a smart aleck or..."
"He said he didn't want to walk that far?" Aw, helllllll no. His little ass is grass. "Oh my God, I am so embarassed. Do I need to come get him?"
I was already shutting my computer down and packing up my shit.
"No, you don't. He can finish out the rest of the day and then begin his suspension tomorrow."
"I don't know what to say. I really don't know what to say. You know what, I'm coming to get him. I am coming to GET him. Right now."
"No, no, he can ride the bus home, it's fine. I'm sure that will give him more time to think about how disappointed you are."
That was School Administrator to Parent code for: You sound like you're going tear his ass up before ya'll even get off school property and I just can't have that so you take this couple hours to calm yo' ass down and then you can beat him till his wheels don't squeak no mo'... when he gets off the bus.
After I got off work and picked the kids up from their dad's house, the silence on the ride home was peppered wtih my son trying to helpful and appreciative.
"Hey mom, how was your day today?"
I didn't even look at him.
"I think when I get home, I'm going to finish cleaning up my room. Yeah, I need to take the trash out too because I forgot to get it this morning. I might even vacuum if you need me to. You just let me know and I'll get it done, ok?"
I gave him nothing.
The twins were each looking out of the window. They knew what was up.
"I might even sweep the porch."
I'ma sweep your porch kid.
When we got home, I had to get the girls ready for a softball game that evening, so I didn't get a chance to sweep. The way I saw it, that was just additional punishment, time he would spend wondering when and where the hailstorm was finally gonna rain down on him.
At the softball game, he was extremely quiet, unnaturally so. My mom and her boyfriend had come and they were trying to gethim to tell them what was wrong. He kept sneaking glances at me, probably surprised I hadn't already told it.
Little did he know, I'd already told my mom. I had to call HER to calm me down after I got off the phone with the vice principal. She was the reason the vp didn't have to call the po-po on me for whooping his ass in the school parking lot. One day he should probably thank her.
Next thing you knew, the game was over. I bet he was thinking, "Man, time sure does fly when you know an ass whoopin is on the horizon! Dang!"
When we got home, we talked about it. You can revisit my earlier paragraphs if you're slow. I don't think he's going to be pulling out his lil' joystick in public ever again.
Pretty soon, I might have to abandon The Retarded Moth Chronicles and start a series on my son. I think I'll begin with a reference an earlier Penis Meets the Outdoors Adventure and call it: Nature Boy.
~N
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