So there's this boy, right. Name's Jake. Names's not important. He's eight-year old. Has a freckle on the inside of his left ear. Not really sure how he got it. Pretty good at school; not genius level, not an Einstein or a Newton or whatever. Kind of loud, once you get to know him and all. My name's Steve. Name's not important.
So this boy, right, he's my boy. I've been with him through the whole thing, from the Aaah-Ohh-Yeah-giveittomehoney to the oh get this thing OUT of me to the Christening and the first Tooth Fairy visit and all the rest. So when you ask me, do I know him, of course I do. Been there all the time for him. Never let that kid down, not once.
So one day the principal calls and she says my boy's not doing so hot in school no more. Says he's been getting C's in Social Studies. Social Studies. 75% on a Math test the other day, completely forgot what a Greatest-Common-Factor was. And she says, would you show up for a parent teacher conference, and of course I'll show up, yes ma'am. Kid's gotta get some sense talked into him.
Was kind of worried the kid'd start crying when I scolded him. Back in my day, my dad used to call my little child-rebellions 'The Bad-Boy Blues'. And he'd put on a cute little song-and-dance number for me whenever I acted up. Something about how sad the Bad Boys were, how they didn't have friends, because the Bad Boys were mean. And soon I was laughing and feeling silly. I didn't want to be one of those no-friend Bad Boys. Of course not. Why would I? That didn't sound fun. So when my son was getting with the cherry face and the huff-huffs and the scrunchy nose and the wah-wahs, I did the song-and-dance. Didn't remember all of it, no, of course not. I did 'improvise' as they say. Don't think I did it right, though, because my boy just kept with the crying. Still don't rightly know how I messed that one up, 'tho.
And this one time, let me tell you, I caught my boy playing with his sister's dolls. Was setting up a tea party. His toy soldiers on one side, regular old Barbies on the other, at this pink plastic rectangular tea-table. Girly purple little chairs for the soldiers, too. Quite a strange little sight if you can imagine. And worryin' he might be what you call 'strange', I walked in and gave him a stern old talking-to. Told him he wasn't to play with Barbies and have tea parties anymore. Told him calmly, of course. Told him I wouldn't tell anyone about this, of course not. He understood but was kind of sad. I could tell. So of course I had to cheer him up so I took him on a trip to Toys R' Us to get the new robot toy I saw on TV the other day. Turns into a truck, it does. Pretty clever. And of course his face lit up when he saw the box, and there's not much else in this world better than seeing your kid's face light up because of something you did for them, you know?
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