Tuesday, June 2, 2009

That kid is gonna be a d-bag when he grows up!


Two warnings before you read this post:

1. If you are offended by course language you should probably stop now, I feel a rant coming on.
2. If you think all small children are god's creatures and can do no wrong, you better also skip this one.

OK, let's get this party started. Today was my youngest daughters end of the school year picnic. This was a big deal for her because next year she starts kindergarten and thus ends our need to pay for any kind of childcare during the school year (can you say mini-raise!). So, like any good part-time-stay-at-home Dad I volunteer to go with the group and help out. As a general rule I try to stay away from these type of functions because a) I don't like most other little kids, strange for a parent I know...and b) I really don't like most of the other parents at this preschool. It would take a long post for me to really get into details about that, but let's just say they are not really my type of people, good or bad.

So, here I am at the annual "kids going crazy and teachers looking homicidal" picnic, trying to keep an eye on other kids while really only concerned with mine, and I notice one of her classmates acting like a...well, like a douche bag. He is the kind of kid you know will be a douche bag when he is a teenager, and a douche bag when he is a young adult, and more than likely a douche bag when he is older and having little douche bags of his own. It's not that hard to pick them out. I instantly want to pick this little shit up by the scruff of his neck and drop kick him into the nearby game of parachute lift going on a few feet away (do you remember that...getting all the kids around a parachute and having them flip it around like a bed sheet and then ducking underneath it and making a mushroom...I loved that game).

I take a deep breath and tell this little boy politely to please stop doing what he is doing and he shoots me a look like "Fuck you old man!" and then walks away. Why the hell do I volunteer for this torture. I stroll over to the picnic shelter for a little adult time and start a pleasant conversation with one of the many moms there helping (I am the only adult male there...great in a bar, not so hot at the preschool picnic) and then one of my least favorite parents strolls up and attempts to join in...who the hell is this space invader. Is she getting her rules of engagement from that little shit giving me the finger from the swing set? Frick and frack!

Other than that everyone had a lovely time and the picnic was a complete success...now I must drink myself into a coma!


1 comment:

  1. You can definitely tell. My mom used to be an elementary school principal and she batted 1000 on picking which kids would grow up and go to jail.