Seriously…what the fuck has happened to my sweet little, Opie Taylor-lookin’ six-year-old?
After school, he comes strolling out, gives his mom a quick nod of the head, like “sup” and just keeps strolling by. Doesn’t want anyone talking to him, hanging near him, or anything. He gets in the car and he’s all EMO and shit. He’s pushing his hair down in the front and looking angrily out the window.
In my mind I’m wondering what in the holy hell does he have to be all emotional about at this age? Did Suzie refuse to share a cookie with you? Did Samantha not accept your Valentine? Did Timmy get a pubic hair before you did? Did the teacher make you learn how to write the letter B when you really wanted to write D? Did I forget to put the PB in your PB&J? Did Kanye steal the stage from you?
He’s got this other thing going on that makes me want to turn a fifth of anything upside down….. He’ll kick his sister. She’ll scream. I’ll say, “Grayson!! Stop kicking your sister.”
Then he leaps up, looking shocked, both arms sticking out with palms up, eyes wide opn, and starts launching into a high-pitched, screaming explanation as to why he just kicked her and how it’s her fault.
I cut him off. “Grayson, I don’t want to hear it, just stop kicking her.”
He then says, “You never listen to me. You never wanna hear what I have to say. You don’t care!” He then goes stomping off crying and sits in his bedroom curled up. I swear, if he had a radio with headphones, he’d put them on, stare at his Clash poster on the wall, and write long prolific poems in his journal about how misunderstood he is.
I’m not ready for this shit just yet. So I write the following while on my knees:
Dear Whatever You Are That Turns Kids Into Teenagers:
Not fucking yet, please. My kids rocks and he’s too young to cross over to the dark side. Keep his voice high-pitched, his mouth smiling, and his brain uncluttered from all that testosterone.
That’d be greeeat. Thanks!
Grayson’s Dad