"That Mennis is a real rascal," Mae complained to me about Jesse's classmate. Apparently the kid pulled Jesse chair from under him just as our boy was about to sit down. "And right in front of me, too!"
"Why, that little shit," I replied, as images of unnatural child abuse crept into my head. Mae interjected, her voice vibrating with grave concern, "That's not the worst of it."
Crap. My kid was getting heckled by his classmate and there was more?
"Teacher Tze Nie is concerned as well," Mae told me earnestly. Apparently, his classmates tend to pick on him a little. They'd grab the toys he was paying with, or they'd pinch the goodies off of his lunchbox.
"He doesn't fight back," Tze Nie had told Mae, "or even protest or complain."
It hit me, then. My kid was a damn hippy-flower-child-peacenik. Sure, it's a good trait to be all peace-loving and stuff, but can a child survive like that?
"Maybe we ought to teach him how to kick some ass," Mae suggested. "Just for self defense," she quickly added.
But I didn't feel comfortable about raising my kid to be violent. Sure, I can't stand the fact that he doesn't stand up for himself, but on the other hand, I like my boy and his innocent lovey-dovey, turn-the-other-cheek ways. But what is a parent to do? Introduce him to the Way of the Dragon and rob him of his innocence forever? Or let him deal with it in his own time? Or perhaps something else, altogether?
"I'm gonna go step on Mennis' foot, maybe break his big toe of something," I told Mae.
"Don't be crazy," Mae said.
"The teachers might see you." Heh.