Put That in Your Pipe and Smoke It

When kids used to pick on me, I never knew what to say. No, this quick wit you enjoy is a recent development. As a child, I’d just stare straight ahead and feign sudden loss of hearing. If I went home and complained to my mother, advice was quaint and ultimately ineffective.

Me: Sean* was mean to me today.

Mom: What happened?

Me: He says I’m ugly and no one is ever going to marry me.

Mom: You tell him he’s wrong. Someone is going to marry you.

Me: Who?

Mom: John D. Rockefeller’s nephew.

The next day in school, I was a laughing stock. Sean* had never heard of John D. Rockefeller, was not at all impressed, and told everyone I was going to marry Bert and Ernie.

A few years later, in junior high…

Me: Tony* was mean to me today.

Mom: What happened?

Me: He keeps calling me “t*tless”.

Mom: You tell him ladies don’t respond to such coarse language.

The next day in school, Tony* said I wasn’t a lady until at least a “B” cup.

Which brings me to yesterday when I took the kids to a birthday party at Malibu Grand Prix. You have to be from Tampa to fully appreciate the horror of the situation. Malibu is a whole lotta Redneck Fun – with batting cage, mini-motorway, miniature golf course, thawed pizza, and arcade all available for children and the occasional burned-out adult.

SIDE NOTE: My first double-dating experience occurred at Malibu back in 1987. Sharon and I went with guys who refused to pay and ended up sticking Sharon with the bill. I believe I still owe her ten bucks. Good times.

At any rate, I’m supervising my children through the putt-putt experience when another partygoer steps to my son. Gets all up in his grill. My son looks at me as I pretend to get something out of my teeth. I thought he should probably try to handle it himself before calling in the big guns.

My oldest used his words, “Step off.”

So proud.

The kid kept at it and my son finally said, “Mommy, he’s hurting my feelings.”

I looked at the bully, his nineteen year-old mother hitting on a maintenance man, and whispered in my son’s ear, “Tell him at least you have a daddy.”

What? I’m trying to teach my children that words, used properly, are more powerful than punches. This will make high school a hell of a lot easier. Would you feel better if I told you I gave the kid a death glare and he backed off? Something kicks in when you’re child is under attack. In fact, my motherly advice has gotten me into trouble before. Back in preschool, my youngest had problems with a little boy several days in a row. Finally, while eating dinner at my parent’s house, I had heard enough.

Son: Nathan* was mean to me today.

Me: What happened?

Son: He wouldn’t let me play dinosaurs again.

Me: You tell Nathan to quit wetting the bed at night. Between that and the thumb – he’s got bigger problems than dinosaur games.

My son smiled and all was right with the world. Then I looked up and noticed Husband and my mother ready to stroke out. I should have known something was wrong when my dad offered a high five. Sorry, but advice like “Take a long walk off a short pier” is gonna have to come from someone else.

At least I haven’t taught them how to curse. Yet.