I'm raising a homicidal maniac.
Sure, he's only six, but you can tell these types of things real early. He's all violent.
This isn't the first time I've had an impromptu afterschool meeting with any of my sons schoolteachers. Concerns have to be addressed sometimes. Worked on in both the school and home environment. Nipped in the bud. As the parent I'm the first one responsible for my children's idiot habits. My son's first grade teacher may have him eight hours a day but I've got that kid for life.
With a very long face and the most serious of demeanors, she wanted me to know that at recess today my son killed a butterfly.
I did not ask how. It seemed this crime was beyond the details. Butterflies are beautiful and we don't make grease spots of them.
Besides, I know how many ways there are to kill butterflies. When I was his age I killed plenty of bugs. Butterflies, moths, bees, bumblebees, caterpillars, tomato worms, spiders, slugs, potato bugs and millions of earwigs. That's life growing up on the farm. Tame the feral cats, roll about in horse manure, play in the irrigation ditch, and then lift up a rock and make mincemeat of anything squirming around underneath it.
What is the difference between killing earwigs and killing butterflies? If butterflies had giant pincers on their butts no one would have any mercy on them. You'd swat them and their pokey asses like mosquitoes.
Or you'd enslave them and use them like carrier pigeons. For when your cell phone is low on batteries.
Looking at the teacher through the window of my van, I commiserated with her on the butterfly issue. I get it. You don't go to school to practice your baser instincts. You go to school for abstinence education in sex ed.
Then I asked where my son's glasses were. He wasn't wearing them.
He'd lost them at lunch. She hadn't noticed.
She didn't grow pincers and I didn't swat her. Sigh.
Thursday, October 06, 2011
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