I swear my boys are the modern day Tom and Huck. They run around constantly with no shirt, no shoes, no friggin worries. I’m telling you, if they could, they’d work without pants as well. God only knows what’s stopping them from doing it. There must be some modicum of society somewhere in those Freudian Ids that call themselves my sons.
And I ain’t just talking in the spring, summer or fall, either. I’ve seen those two rip off their shirts in the dead of winter after jumping on the trampoline for 30 seconds (yea…I have a trampoline. File that under parenting error #657). Most times, it usually goes down something like this:
I’ll by complete chance look out the kitchen window and see either Jethro or (more often than not) Jakob (or both of them), jumping on the trampoline, shirtless. Meanwhile, all their friends have huge down parkas on. “What the hell is wrong with you two?” I’ll ask charging out of the house like a maniac with his hair on fire.
They’ll both look at me like a maniac that’s just charged out of a house with his hair on fire. “What?” They’ll usually respond looking at each other, confused.
“Put your (beep)(beep) shirts on right now!” I’ll continue to scream. “It’s 20 (beep) degrees out here. Where the (beep) are your heads?
“It’s hot.” Jakob will invariably offer.
“GTFO!” I’ll continue to blather. Only I won’t use the cute texting abbreviation.
“Well, I am!” Jakob will insist.
“Get your god damn shirt and coat on right now.” I’ll hiss through my teeth.
I’m sure as I turn back toward the house, those little turds are making faces or saying shit behind my back. Which is totally cool. Cause they’re 10 and 8, respectively. And whatever little thoughts they have about their ol’ man don’t compare to the thoughts of love I have for them going through my head at that moment.
I was being sarcastic, in case you didn’t know.
Now, if you’re one of those people that think kids learn from experience, let me be the first to bring the truth home to you. They don’t. Just ask Jethro. He’ll be happy to tell you from his own experience. One day last summer his friend, Johnny, came running into our house.
“Fadderly (yea…even the neighborhood kids call me Fadderly)?!?!?” Johnny called out.
“Yea?” I answered from my bedroom office. “What’s up, Jonathan?”
“Ummm…Jethro’s hurt. He’s bleeding.”
Quick like the Flash, I stopped surfing internet porn…researching information for an article I was writing and took off down the steps. Ok. That first part I was just saying to impress you. It was more like I begrudgingly made my way down the steps, somewhat annoyed that I was being interrupted. Again. For the 657th time. “What happened?” I asked when I reached the landing.
“He stepped on something. And his foot is bleeding.” Johnny replied. I gotta admit the kid did look pretty worried.
“Where is he?” I asked heading out the front door. There really wasn’t any need to ask. I saw Jethro curled up in a ball the second the words came out of my face.
“He’s on the sidewalk out front.” Johnny replied, trailing behind me.
“Yea.” I said, crossing the lawn. “I see him.”
What I saw was blood pooling around Jethro’s foot. And he was moaning like he just stepped on an IED. Ugh. Man. Kids. WTF?!?!? “What the hell happened?” I asked kneeling down beside him.
“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.” Was all I got in response.
“I think he stepped on a piece of metal or something.” Johnny offered, coming up behind me.
I gently grabbed Jethro’s ankle. Blood was pouring, I mean pouring, out of a gaping wound on the heel of his foot. I was already in triage mode even before I saw all the damage. Don’t know if it’s stitches, probably. Definitely a trip to the hospital, though. Gotta get someone to watch whatever kids are home at the moment. Who’s close by? The Pope? Ma? Neighbor? Wait. Is Sarah home? Or did she sleep over her friends last night? God, I’m gonna miss my nap now. WTF?!?!?
I looked around for something to use as a compress. I spotted Jethro’s t-shirt on the driveway. “Johnny.” I commanded. “Throw me his shirt.”
“K.” Johnny replied, going over and tossing me the shirt.
I managed to get Jethro onto my lap. I quickly wrapped the formerly white t shirt around his foot and pressed. Jethro continued to moan. “You’re alright.” I tried to reassure him, stroking his hair. “You’re alright.”
The shirt bloodied pretty quickly. He definitely was gonna need to go to the hospital. I looked around for his sneaks, when it dawned on me.
WHY THE FUCK WASN’T HE WEARING HIS SNEAKERS?!?!? Find out here…