Roll One!
Okay. Here we go. I’m being tested. To see if this enlightenment stuff has any real weight to it. I know it does mind you. but do I have it? I mean do I really have it? What it takes to take the high road. My son comes home from football practice. (We didn’t have the fucking money, but hey, I’ll go without so he can have a chance to have what I didn’t. you know the fucking story right?)
Anyway my boy is good. (It’s not cause he’s my boy. He’s a natural at everything) He makes a tackle tonight. The boy’s father yelled at my son. Told him something to the effect of "you don’t do that boy!" or some such shit. Alex told me, and I fucking (I’m so predictable) went the fuck off. I wanted to know the boy’s father’s name. Come to find out he lives right down the fucking road. I rush to the car. Tammy’s screaming "please no. I don’t have bond money. I have no money. There’s only enough gas for me to get to work tomorrow. You’re above this. You are above this. You’ve came so far. You are...."
Whatever it was I stopped. I will try to handle this like an adult without violence. In an ideal conversation I might say, or hopefully walk up to him and say: "I couldn’t wait to meet the man who intimidates a nine-year-old boy at a football practice...for tackling another boy, who happens to be his son, in a tackle football practice where they are instructed to do as such. I am James, the nine-year-old boy’s, Alex’s, father. And what might your name be, I’d call you sir, but I’m not sure the term applies to anyone who would display such behavior, to a child no less.
But face to face. Man. I don’t know. This isn’t just an issue. This is my son. I need to meditate. I’m sending my number for the man to call me. I hope I can be cool. I want to. This is just unacceptable. I’ll have to be there. with him. All the time now. The heat’s too much for. I nearly had a heat stroke a few years back, I’ve been ruined everysense. Bla...bla...boring noise....
Maybe meeting in the middle of my bipolar madness is the way. Something like. I’m James. Alex’s dad. Imabout the crazy mother fucker I know, and I live just right down the road from ya. So next time you address my son in that manner, I’m gonna come down there and split your fucking head wide-open. So. Do we understand each other?
"Roll another one, just like the other one."
Meditate.
Translate this anger
into positive energy.
Did I mention roll one?
Anyway my boy is good. (It’s not cause he’s my boy. He’s a natural at everything) He makes a tackle tonight. The boy’s father yelled at my son. Told him something to the effect of "you don’t do that boy!" or some such shit. Alex told me, and I fucking (I’m so predictable) went the fuck off. I wanted to know the boy’s father’s name. Come to find out he lives right down the fucking road. I rush to the car. Tammy’s screaming "please no. I don’t have bond money. I have no money. There’s only enough gas for me to get to work tomorrow. You’re above this. You are above this. You’ve came so far. You are...."
Whatever it was I stopped. I will try to handle this like an adult without violence. In an ideal conversation I might say, or hopefully walk up to him and say: "I couldn’t wait to meet the man who intimidates a nine-year-old boy at a football practice...for tackling another boy, who happens to be his son, in a tackle football practice where they are instructed to do as such. I am James, the nine-year-old boy’s, Alex’s, father. And what might your name be, I’d call you sir, but I’m not sure the term applies to anyone who would display such behavior, to a child no less.
But face to face. Man. I don’t know. This isn’t just an issue. This is my son. I need to meditate. I’m sending my number for the man to call me. I hope I can be cool. I want to. This is just unacceptable. I’ll have to be there. with him. All the time now. The heat’s too much for. I nearly had a heat stroke a few years back, I’ve been ruined everysense. Bla...bla...boring noise....
Maybe meeting in the middle of my bipolar madness is the way. Something like. I’m James. Alex’s dad. Imabout the crazy mother fucker I know, and I live just right down the road from ya. So next time you address my son in that manner, I’m gonna come down there and split your fucking head wide-open. So. Do we understand each other?
"Roll another one, just like the other one."
Meditate.
Translate this anger
into positive energy.
Did I mention roll one?
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 10:37 PM
5 Comments:
you know i always advocate the non-violent approach good on ya,
our example is an influential teacher for our children
That is such a tough situation, it hurts to know that someone who should know better acts like they don't know how to act, especially when their ingnorance is taken out on our kids.
I'm proud of you for not rippin him a new one. You're a wise one, the first thing that comes into our minds isn't always the best solution. I know.
You'll handle it just right, I know you.
sending power and love, Lori
It is always best to take the time to think about it before taking action on it.
But, do roll another one.
Roll on James, roll on. You sound like my hard ass husband. Ya did the right thing.
Becky :)
Dave...of course, sir, always. "Teach your children well...the father's hell did slowly go by..."
Lori. "You'll handle it just right, I know you." thank you so much.
dita...nice to see and hear from you. Indeed. Rolling. A great idea.
Beckyboop. rollon? why do I stink?
The right thing. I long for it. "I can't believe that I'm not ashamed to be the person that I am today." ~ Staind
thanks all, for caring.
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