Ms. Jones Gets an Earfull-Chp. 3

If you are faint of heart when it comes to bad language, perhaps you should sit this one out. I used to mvmake apologies for Redshirt's indescretions, but I have learned it is a wasted gesture. So there will be no apologies made here. If you choose to continue reading, the liability is yours to own.

Redshirt just completed the second grade this year. It was a year filled with wonderment and joy, if you are the devil. But for me, his ever loving and frazzled mother, it was a humbling journey wrought with embarrassment and laughter; dissapointment and confusion.

Ms. Jones, whose name has been changed to protect the innocent, declared to me that in her 23 years of teaching, she had never encountered a child like Redshirt. I was, no doubt flattered. You see, even when the connotation of a statement like that is negative, if you are Redshirt's parent, you'll take what you can get and you'll be thankful.

I digress. Ms. Jones explained that she pulled out all her tools, special training, and experience to conquer the will of Redshirt. However, just as soon as she made progress, some breakthrough-- Redshirt thwarted her methods. I knew this battle all too well. Many months and years had I spent battling Redshirt in an attempt to control him; to mold him into a functioning member of society. He never waved the white flag; the tenacious menace that he is. Outsmarting him was-and is-exactly like a game of chess. Every move must be thought out five steps in advance, every possible scenario must be anticipated; even then Redshirt can pivot and evade your tactics. So to the comments of Ms. Jones, I replied, "He's like a virus. Everytime you defeat him, he evolves into a more resilient strain leaving you weak, clueless, and crushed."

Redshirt can identify nearly every brand of soap sold in stores by its taste. In fact, I think he has grown to enjoy the flavor and sensation of sudsy barsoap in his mouth. He even has brand preferences, claiming, "Some are sweeter than others." As a result, he cares not whether he'll eat it as a consequence of cursing obscenities. He enjoys the shocked gasps of the witnessing crowd when curse words are uttered from his eight year old lips; therefore he uses them as frequently and eloquently as he is able-- for he fears no soap, no spanking, no restriction, nor loss of privelges, toys, etc. You have to understand, for Redshirt, the gains from his poor choices far outweigh any consequence you can dream up...ah yes, a virus.

I was told once, while picking him up from school that he farted; that is to say, he passed gas. The other second graders heard the signature squirt of flatulence and giggled, as would I. They teased him and sniggered, "Ewww," and "Gross!" Redshirt isn't the type to chuckle along. He will retaliate like a skunk (yes, pun intended) and make all accounts square. The squabble attracted the attention of Ms. Jones. She strutted over to the raucous to mediate. Redshirt continued to belligerently defend himself, to accuse the guilty, to assert his rightful behavior. He finished his argument with, "It didn't even fuckin' stink!"

...... ...???

What does a mother do when her son's teacher tells her such a story? I can't answer that; I can only relay that I held back a chuckle so fiercely I nearly choked on it. A smile played at the corners of my mouth. I didn't feign horror, because I was horrified. But the horror only made the comedy sweeter. I apologized, as I often did, and promised to have a talk with the culprit.

"I'll pray for you," Ms. Jones replied. What could I say but, "Thanks?"