Overall, my son has very good taste in friends, but there is one kid who I am sure is a ticking time bomb.
The boys met at the start of the school year, and pretty quickly, I started hearing about lunches with Jackson, trading Pokemon cards with Jackson, how many Skylanders Jackson has… you get the picture. The bromance wanted to spread beyond the school walls, so I threw my doors open wide for the new buddies.
At first, it was just like any other playdate. They battled with their Beyblades and had a heated debate about which Pokemon was better, Mewtwo EX or Reshiram. Then, they paused to replenish their tanks with chocolate milk before chasing each other with light sabers.
Jackson was running after my son, and I heard him bellow, “I’ll put your head in a fryer!”
Did I hear that correctly? A 7-year old boy just threatened to put my son’s head in a deep fryer? I was stunned, and outraged. I don’t think I had ever been so angry at a child before. Even my own.
Before I started spitting fire, I decided to let it go, because I didn’t want to be the mom who overreacts. Sometimes I really regret being so reasonable.
For some reason unknown even to myself, when my son asked if Jackson could come over again, I let him.
AND IT HAPPENED. AGAIN. That punk of a kid menaced my son. In my own home. Oh, hell no.
I heard the kids playing together in my son’s room. He ran out, with Jackson right behind him, shouting, “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
It was a deep, passionate anger that came out of him. He was a child unhinged. His eyes were wild and he was solely focused on my son. He kept charging after him, saying over and over, “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
It was unnerving. There was so much rage coming from this small boy, and somehow my son did something to unleash this tiny beast.
Of course, I picked the kid up by his ear, tossed him out on the front porch, and told him to leave my sweet little boy alone.
Okay, I didn’t do that, but I really wanted to. What I did do, was send him home and begin to stew. What could I do that would not come off as 50 shades of crazy? I really wanted to release my inner mama bear and let the fur fly.
First, my husband and I wanted to make sure our son didn’t have any permanent scars from this kid. We had a very long talk about how what Jackson said was wrong, and blah, blah, blah. Pretty much it went in one ear and out the other, because he had no clue what happened. He thought Jackson was just playing around.
At times, I am grateful he still has his innocence.
Second, we had to solve this issue. Now. I absolutely hate conflict, so the thought of talking to Jackson’s parents made me want to vomit. What I wanted to do was keep the boys apart and never have to deal with the situation. Seemed pretty mature at the time. But, no, my gallant husband wanted to talk to them.
I would rather have walked up and down my street naked.
Now, here’s the weird thing. The parents are normal. Well, mostly. The mom has been working on a bottle of wine for over a month. I don’t think this explains the kid’s psychopathic behavior, but it’s definitely suspicious.
What would I even say to them anyway? “Hi, your kid is most likely going to become a serial killer, so you may want to keep an eye on that. Anger management might help.” I have a feeling that’s not going to go over very well.
I could try, “Wow! Jackson is feisty, isn’t he? He’s more energetic than the other kids. Ever notice that? That he’s more intense?”
It might be too subtle.
They haven’t played together since their last kerfuffle. I am going to keep it that way, because if that boy threatens my son again, well, his parents are going to find a “Resources for Troubled Kids” pamphlet into their mailbox.