Out of the Ashes...

Cam's Girls

My son... Eight years old, going on 17, I swear.

A few days ago, I went to pick him up, and he told me a little story of what happened at school that day.

“Dad, Mallory beat me up.”

I did a double take. “Mallory? That’s a girl’s name, right?”

“Yep!”

Apparently, Mallory said something about one of her friends. It was an insult, and Cam laughed. That’s when Li’l Mal did a smack down on my boy. By the end of this short explaination, I was shaking my head.

“Boy,” I said. “You gotta understand girls. THEY can insult their pals, but if you even laugh they WILL kick your tail.”

It floored me when he replied with, “Yeah, I know.” A sly smile crossed his little face.

He knows?

Later that night, we stopped off at the local ballpark. It’s baseball season, and he just loves to watch the slightly older kids play. Real baseball fan, that one. There were a lot of kids there, of course, so he ended up playing more than watching. *shrug* Well, I ended up with a real education - my son, the budding womanizer, has NOT changed.

Ya see, he and one of his classmate/friend types began to pick on a couple of the girls. Of course, girls around that age have ZERO demur factor. One actually started tossing sticks and literal stones at the two boys, while a second began chasing them. It was really funny watching a girl smaller than Cam chasing him actually shouting out “You wanna be chased? Huh!?” And then that same little girl tried to kiss the boys.

*blink blink*

*sigh*

The pandemonium was, of course, caused by the boys picking on the girls. So, during a break in the mayhem, I stopped the boys, took Cam aside and reminded him of something VERY important.

“Son,” I started. “I will remind you whose side I will take IF I ever have an angry dad calling me.”

“Mine?” he asked.

“No, smart aleck. THEIRS.”

So did he tone it down a bit? NOPE! I have a feeling I may have to endure one or two broken noses on his behalf in the coming decade.

Anyway, the Mallory thing had me thinking. I couldn’t recall who that was, so I decided to spend the final half of the school day in Cam’s classroom. Really, it was just to set eyes on this Mallory chick. I imagined her to be this bigger than normal 2nd grade girl who rules with an iron fist. Bad attitude and mean disposition complete with fists the size of hams.

Imagine my surprise to see she was one of the class cuties, quite kind and gentle, more confident than most kids her age, and only an inch or two taller than Cam. She was a total sweetie!

Recess time came and I just had to say something.

“THAT’S the girl who beat you down?” I asked.

“Yep!” he replied, just before running off to play war games of some kind.

“No frigging way,” I whispered to myself.

That’s when I knew the real deal, as if the park episode wasn’t enough to confirm it. Just to be SURE, I asked him something on the way home.

“Dude, really. Do you pick on the girls just to get them to chase you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You LIKE being chased?”

“Yep!”

Somehow, he gets it. He figured that out all by himself - the reasons why, too. Oh, man...I’m doomed! I can see it happeing in the not too far future.

*KNOCK KNOCK - door opens*

“Yeah?” I inquire of the strange, seemingly pissed off man.

“You Wonch?” he demands. “Cameron’s dad?”

“Yeah...”

*WHAP - out go the lights*

Yeah... I’m doomed all right.

It’s my father’s fault, DANG IT! Has to be. He was the player. That’s the reason I even exist (he was married, but not to my mom - get it?). I have the same capability, but my experiences by having a father who only cared about dipping his wick than spending time with his son startyed me down the road of keeping that little part of me under strict control. I still do that to this day, in fact, even though I no longer have a reason to be that way (other than not really wanting born-out-of-wedlock kids of my own). I figured the way I live would actually help balance that talent out in the boy, too. You know - a good example for the little playa...

I was soooooo wrong... So perhaps the following should happen just to make myself feel better about MY future beatings from other understandably angry fathers:

*KNOCK KNOCK - DOORBELL FIFTEEN TIMES*

“What?” cries the by now 86 year old swinger answering the door.

“You Wonch?” I ask. “Your bastard child, Michael’s, father?”

He leans in close, squinting. “Michael?” he asks.

“Yeah...”

*grabs old man’s cane, beats the dude twice over the head*

“That’s for passing your talent along to your grandchild and then not being there to show him how NOT to act, you old coot.”

Maybe I should take bail money, just in case Lansing, Michigan, takes a dim view of elder abuse, eh?

Yeah...