Friday, May 5, 2006

Precious Gifts Gone Bad

Being a parent has some great rewards. The first smile of your darling little one’s face, and that first laugh… make up for sleep walking through late night diaper changes and bottle feedings. The first time he pulls up on a chair you’re there with camera in hand, ready to capture this AMAZING feat. Those of you who are parents know what I am talking about, and those of you who have yet to expirence this… should probably stop here…. because it “ain’t all shitz-n-giggles”.

I have spent my whole life in and around situations I would rather not relive… sadly my son is going to grow up just like me, and I am doomed to wear a paperbag over my head… because everyone knows I’m his mom.

I nipped part of the problem when we chose to take him out of public school and homeschool him. This elimated daily calls from the school and unwanted trips to retrieve him from the principal’s office. Our big fear of taking him out was the socialization factor, but he had several friends in our neighborhood he could play with in the evenings, so I wasn’t really concerned. Now I am even less worried about that… it’s not uncommon for me to look into my backyard and see about 10 kids jumping on my trampoline. In fact he has become one of the most popular kids in the neighborhood. He’s pretty outgoing so I didn’t question it at all… until the other day.

My good friend calls me to chat, and we are just going on about lame everday junk. Then, out of
the blue she says that her aunt told her something she wanted to ask me about. Her aunt lives on the corner down the street from my house. Her grandkids have been in my backyard a time or two, and she owns several house around here that she rents out. Then my friend really gets my interest by saying, “There is a rumor around your neighborhood.” I am curious so naturally I ask her what it is. She goes on, “My aunt said she heard that your house is the place to go if you want stuff.”

Time stood still as my mouth dropped open. Visions swam through my head… All of a sudden I see Gabe peddling down the street on his bike. Pockets stuffed full of vials of god-knows-what. Wearing a backpack filled with lick’em-stick’em ACID tattoos, hash brownies, and a transformer bong. My stomach dropped… I mean he’s eight… running shit in my neighborhood. That little bastard is going to be grounded for the rest of his life. I was in shock. So, my first reaction always - was to question the comment, “what?.. stuff?”

She continues,”Yeah like toys and games.” I died and gone to humilation… again… Then I remember, a few days ealier he and an accomplice, which will remain unnamed, were gathering up stuff to sale. They had put it in a little tub… and I didn’t find out until later, when my sister spotted them, that they were going door-to-door trying to sell the collected stuff to my neighbors. I am really not sure what is worse… the drugs or his junk. Either way I am afraid to leave my house for all the pointing and snickering amongst the neighbors.

MORAL OF THE STORY: condoms not only prevent STDs they also keep away unwanted humilation and responsibility.

end note: I love the little guy to death.. and I am sure one day I could make lots of money writing a book about it, but right now I wish I could crawl in a hole.

The End

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