Today Alexander went to camp. It’s not the camp he attends for the bulk of the summer. It’s one of those educational type camps, where the kids are learning all year long. It’s the kind of camp that’s perfect for a week, but would grow tiresome after two; a kid’s gotta move after all.
Alexander went for his first day, and we carpooled with a friend. We didn’t carpool because of traffic or work schedules, we carpooled because it’s really nice to walk into a new environment with a friend. I dropped Alexander and his friend off at camp, and returned at 3.30 to pick him up. When I signed him out the counselor had a slip of paper for me. Apparently during water play someone had grabbed Alexander by the shoulder repeatedly and Alexander had received an ice pack. I thanked the counselor for letting me know, and walked my son to the car.
While we were walking I asked Alexander about his day. It was a good one, and there was a lot of great stuff to talk about. Next I asked him about the shoulder grabbing incident. I asked him why he needed ice, a punch to the shoulder couldn’t hurt that much.
“He grabbed me by the shoulder a lot of times.” My son said, “it hurt.”
I looked down and to the right where my boy was matching me stride for stride, “Then why don’t you just punch him? Punch him hard, and punch him once. Don’t get caught and he won’t grab you again.”
My boy looked at me with disbelief. His eyes said a thousand words, but his mouth said nothing.
As I’m sitting here writing Mr. G. and the kids are watching replays of Eli Manning’s injury. Jane and Alexander are marveling that Manning didn’t cry. I, on the other hand, wonder how his mother feels. I know it was an accident, but I bet she wants to beat the shit outta the guy who hurt her son.