Some weeks, as Sunday approaches I start to get nervous.
Some weeks go by in a flash and nothing outrageous has happened. I start to worry about what I will blog about. Sometimes I think, maybe everyone is starting to be normal and life is boring and there’s nothing to say.
But then – I just venture out into my INSANE town that is FILLED with LUNATICS and I will always have some material to work with.
My schedule worked out this weekend so I was able to make it to the kids basketball games Saturday morning before work. I have missed a bunch, so the kids were happy to have me there. Sam’s game went well and we moved over to the next court for Michael’s game immediately following.
I only knew one mother there and sat down next to her. This happened to be the mother I know who always posts on Facebook “how blessed she is to be homeschooling.” You might imagine we have very little in common.
We made small talk while Michael was lining up with his teammates to start his game. A boy he doesn’t know was behind him and kicked him in the back of the leg for no reason. Michael turned to face him.
“Stop kicking!” he said to the kid.
The kid just looked at him and wound up and kicked him hard in the privates.
Michael hunched over in pain and started crying. I sat on the bleachers slack-jawed watching the coach reprimand the penis-kicker. My mind raced as to what would be the way to respond to this assault.
It would be a perfect time for Michael to turn into a wolf but that seemed unlikely.
The coach ran over and sent the “junk-kicker” over to his dad on the bleachers.
I stared down the kid with a look of disgust and horror as much as I could but he didn’t even glance my way. I whipped my head around to adjust my squinty eyeball glare towards the Dad but he didn’t care either.
I tried to size up the situation and figure out why both of these people were immune to my evil glare and realized that the father was a huge Richie Cunningham look-alike with what seemed to be the same nerdy disposition.
He didn’t say ONE WORD to his balls-kicking devil child, and he didn’t say ONE WORD TO US OR MICHAEL as tears poured down his cheeks and Mr. Gaga took him to the bathroom to assess the situation.
You know what Opie – maybe say you are sorry that your son is a huge douchebag….or say “I am so sorry that Michael is infertile now because my kid is a testicle-destroying asshole.”
At the very least make some sort of show pretending to reprimand your kid.
Any appropriate response will do.
None of that happened. Nothing happened. It was as though I was in the twilight zone.
While my son was now missing the start of his game, the balls-kicker sat on Richie Cunningham’s lap and stared straight ahead watching the game.
Smoke poured out of my ears while I desperately thought how I could properly punish these horrible people.
When Michael came back from the bathroom with pink cheeks and puffy eyes I called him over.
“If that kid touches you one more time – you have permission to punch him as hard as you can in the face.” I said furiously and loudly.
Mr. Gaga stared at me with alarm as Michael ran onto the court.
“What?” I demanded.
“Everyone is staring at you now, maybe you should go to work.” he whispered.
“I don’t care.”
I started to get my stuff together to leave for work and guess who decided to pipe in with her two cents?
“You know…you are not telling Michael the right thing to do….” she said with a smile.
Did this bitch have a death wish or what?
“Um, I am teaching my child to defend himself and not just stand around getting kicked in the balls by a maniac who has a father that allows such behavior.”
She continued to smile and said “Hitting is not the answer.”
I was going to lose my mind.
“Listen, when you ever let your kids venture out of your house – you might find that the real world is a little rough – and your kids are going to get their asses kicked…..If Michael punches that kid today I will give him a high-five.”
She looked at me and shook her head and said sadly, “I know you will.”
I took that moment to exit the gym. I called a friend on the way to work to relay the story, who thankfully agreed that the whole scenario was obscene. Then she gave me a great idea.
“Maybe next weekend, if that mom is there just go up to her and kick her in the crotch and see what happens.”
Basketball games just got a lot more fun.
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