Alternately titled: Don’t mess with my Boy.
I feel like I failed my kid, and it’s driving me nuts. Not a huge fail, but any fail as a Parent feels significant.
Let’s start at the beginning. Future Cardiologist has been struggling lately with picking a costume for Halloween. In the grand scheme of things this isn’t something that’s earth shaking, but to a tender-hearted little boy who is sensitive to the point where he cries himself to sleep some nights because someone said something to him that was unkind (he IS my boy, after all), it was significant.
I guess this is where I feel like I failed. I’ve been so consumed with school, and financial issues, and feeling like walking death, and work that I’ve not been as on top of things as I normally am where my kids are concerned.
So when I realized that today, October 31st, was Halloween. And that FC didn’t have a costume. I knew how things were going to end. And it wasn’t well.
(For those of you who haven’t found yourself looking for a costume ON Halloween, let me share this with you. If it’s a kid you’re shopping for, you’re probably screwed.)
FC didn’t like any of the options available to him. He finally settled (after four stops at various stores) on what to him looked like what it was. A racecar driver costume. (He’s never heard of Nascar, it’s not something we follow in the house.)
A Jeff Gordon costume.
He looks pretty damn happy even though he wasn’t dressed as a Fireman. Right? And for the record, had he told me he wanted to be a Firefighter for Halloween, I don’t know, YESTERDAY, I could have helped him. My boy would have been the most dashing and accurately dressed Firefighter in the city. Today he was going to have to settle for Jeff Gordon.
So with moderately heavy hearts, dreaming of turnout gear, (and with empty candy bags), we set out to trick or treat.
That would be the kiddos.
It was going so well. The kids were remembering to say “Thank You” after receiving their treats. They were well behaved. They weren’t even torturing each other. And that’s something they do almost every second of every day. The wagon we dragged behind us (in case of a SWR meltdown) was empty. Candy bags were filling up.
All was well.
And then some jackass decided it would be funny to pick on my kid because he dared to wear a Jeff Gordon costume.
And then another JACKASS (capitalized this time because he was drinking a beer at the time. With more than a few emptys nearby) two houses down decided to tell him that his uniform “sucked” and that “Junior RULES.”)
FC was confused. He doesn’t know Jeff Gordon from Dale Jr. from Strawberry effing Shortcake. What he did know was that two adults had picked on him for what he was wearing. The kid thought he was a race car driver.
And that’s cool to a kid.
I found the Momma Bear in me emerging, and pretty quickly. FC’s eagerness to score as much candy as he could was suddenly replaced with the urge to get home. His four-year-old sister outlasted him. I found myself wanting to go back to a few houses and bash some heads.
You can mess with me. You DON’T mess with my kids.
And I did have that talk with him about how “what other people say doesn’t matter…” And how Jeff Gordon is a very rich race car driver who gets a TON of candy.
We need to work on some things. I get that.
So maybe I’m a little overprotective.
Maybe you think FC and I need to both harden up a bit.
I know I do.
That being said… A nine-year-old shouldn’t have to harden up. He’s NINE, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t have to be concerned with anything other than whether or not his Pokemon card will beat a classmates Pokemon card. We’re working on his self confidence issues. He’s not the precious little snowflake that I once believed him to be, but he is my kid. He’s my boy. And when you mess with my kid, you mess with me.
Who knew that Nascar folks could be so fricking brutal.
And for the two guys who tore my boy’s heart up because they were… Well, assholes… And he happened to be wearing the wrong costume on Halloween, you better fricking hope that I don’t run across you again.