I went to a cookout this past weekend and my daughter is very social, unlike her father. She ran out to a group of kids, so I followed her over. An eleven year old boy stepped towards me. “I WANT YOU TO BRING FIREWORKS NEXT YEAR!” I have no idea who this kid is. “Um, I don’t have any fireworks.” He was unphased, “WELL BUY SOME, DUH!”
Now, my first carnal instinct is there situations is to attack. Insults bubbled up, but were suppressed, a testament to my inner growth from becoming a father or something profound like that, I guess. I went safe. “I don’t have any money, these kids take it all.” He then looked at me, “WELL MY ADVICE IS DON’T HAVE KIDS.” Bold little bastard, this one. Should have given his parents that advice in 2007, sounds like. “Too late for that, ya think?” He then stared at me and ran off to kick a soccer ball. I felt like all the insults I swallowed would then come out of me like a swarm from John Coffey’s mouth on the Green Mile. Time for a beer.
