Twas Brillig

As you know, I’m in the midst of moving and I’m being the crappiest blogger ever in the process. Please know that I have all of you in my google reader and I’m keeping up on reading your posts, but I’m hardly commenting anywhere. I know, I know. Reading isn’t enough. Comments are the real validation for your writing. I get that. And I’m so sorry. One of these days I’ll take an entire day and catch up on all my comments.

In the meantime, though, I wanted to share a story from today. My little Bubba has a “friend.” We will call this friend “Brat.” Bubba always begs to be able to see Brat and to play with him. Brat lives in the old neighborhood, where the house that we’re trying to sell is located. So, since I was hauling all the kids down there today to begin moving the old boxes to our soon-to-be home, I thought I’d call this little friend and see if he wanted to come play with my son for a little while.

“He’s changed! He’s changed!” the Brat’s mom said, unprovoked by any question on my part. Brat had been a terrible bully to my Bubba, though Bubba loved him anyway. At one point, about a year ago, I had informed her that Brat was not to play with my son anymore, because my kid was being taught that it was okay for Brat to beat him up, and that Brat’s mom could be in the room and watch it and never lift a finger or her voice or anything–unless Bubba cried too loudly, in which case she yelled at Bubba, instead of her nasty rotten little abusive brat.

“He’s not a bully anymore! I’ve been disciplining him and teaching him not to be mean! You’ll see! He’s doing so well!”

I was hopeful, but skeptical. This kid really is the world’s biggest monster and his mother is the world’s biggest enabler.

But, because Bubba really wanted to see him, and because I was willing to give the kid another chance, I invited him over.

Within a few minutes of arriving at our house, Brat comes running inside (he and Bubba and Fluffy had been playing in the backyard) with giant alligator tears streaming down his face, announcing that Bubba had shoved him. His mother looked at me like she was about to murder my Bubba.

But before she could accomplish her intended homicide, Fluffy (who honestly should become a reporter due to her dependably accurate and unbiassed tattling) came in to tell the real story. Brat had attacked my Bubba with a metal dump truck toy, whacking him in the head repeatedly, until Bubba pushed him away so he would stop it.

Sure enough, when Bubba was located, his forehead was bruised and scratched. Even so, Bubba apologized for shoving Brat (something I didn’t even see as necessary! How proud I am that he shoved the kid away! What were his other options? Just sit there and take it?). But Brat didn’t (nor was he ever encouraged by his mother to) apologize–though he did smirk with satisfaction when he saw the damage that he’d caused on Bubba’s forehead.

Moments later, Scooby began screaming (TOTALLY out of character for him) and came running to me with his nose GUSHING blood. (I wish I could say that I was more worried about the nosebleed than I was about my carpet…) I gasped and asked what had happened. “Brat threw a shoe at him,” said his mother, nonchalantly. She’d SEEN him do it. My son was screaming and bleeding. Still, absolutely NO discipline whatsoever.

I grabbed my keys and said, “I’m afraid we are leaving now.” (Even though I hadn’t accomplished one single thing…)

“Oh! Okay! But when you come back next time, PLEASE call us again! I think Brat and Bubba really had a great time! They love to play together SO much!”

You’ll be happy to know that I restrained myself from poking out her eyeballs and frying them on a stick, though it is precisely what I wanted to do. Instead I gave a little half smile and said, “well, we’ll see.”

Needless to say, Gentle Readers, I’m not terribly impressed with the “changes” that she was so proud of. Nor will I be calling them ever again.