Mama Said Knock You Out

I never thought that I, a 5’2 petite southern Christian mother of two, could ever want to punch the snot out of another 5 year old kid. I learned something new about myself today. We were at Rylan’s soccer game, the first one of the season, and out comes the opposing team. They all had spray painted orange Mohawks (some faux-hawks) and looked like a group to be reckoned with. (Or is the phrase not to be reckoned with? My brain is mushy right now). I’m not sure if they’ve been running two-a-days since June or what but the score was probably, I kid you not, 40-3. They had their own bench and everything. Where did these kids come from? We’re in the U6 league for crying out loud! A bunch of mini-Beckhams were doing circles around our little guys, some of who didn’t even understand which direction to kick the ball. So here’s where things got ugly for me. This little orange haired number 6 (I swear the orange painted hair made him look ten times meaner) was out there talking crap to my kid. He went eye to eye with him and did his hand over the top of their heads to prove a point on how much taller he was. Then he just proceeded to trash talk the rest of the game. My kid is no pushover. He talked right back. This kid shoved, we told him to shove back. And to shove harder. Number 6 proceeded to bully every kid on our team while simultaneously kicking the ball up and down the field scoring goal after goal. I really hated that kid. I wanted to see who his parents were. Who his mom was. I wanted to give her a dirty look. And then I realized, “Oh my gosh, what is wrong with me?” I always heard these stories of parents getting ridiculous on the little league sports fields and I thought for sure I would never succumb to that kind of behavior. I mean, that’s just absurd. Only hotheaded idiots do that. But I really had to bite my tongue here. Okay, I didn’t exactly bite it when talking to the other parents on our team about this kid and I sort of didn’t mind if the other team happened to overhear, which really doesn’t make me all that innocent. Oh, and did I mention the part about how I do the administrative/behind-the-scenes work for a little league sports ministry at a church where we have all the parents sign a Parent Code of Ethics before each season? Um, yeah. I really should know better. I’m thinking I’ll be needing to read the part in James about “taming the tongue” before each game. Because there’s just something about wanting to defend your child, no matter if the opponent has been alive for 5 short years or not. Do. Not. Mess. With. My. Kid. Here’s a picture of what Number 6 is going to grow up to look like. Scut Farkus from A Christmas Story. When Stephanie takes a break from beating up kids at the local playground, you can find her at www.mommish.com.