When last we met, I was fretting about sexting on the part of a freshman in high school. It had struck me that I might have huge differences of opinions with other adults, but that I was glad I realized that, just because I might not like an adult, I don't wish for ill to befall their children.
On the other hand, I find myself today totally reveling in the discovery that a couple of the boys on the first soccer team Youngest was on last year got bumped down from the A team to the B team. Actually, three boys got moved down. One of them is a decent enough kid to my kid and his parents were decent enough to us. But the other two? Both boys were mean #^&@*($ to Youngest at the outset of the season, and neither of them let up for the entire time Youngest was on their team. Of those two $&*()@$ kids, one father was one of the main culprits in collusion with the evil motherfucker ex-coach. Simply put, the father is an #*(&)@^, so it's no surprise his son is a *&(#@&*(.
[Time out, Patty. Time out. Do you really want to go around calling people those names? Really?]
[Okay, so I went back and blacked it out. Does that make us all feel better? Do we all hold hands now, sing "Kumbaya" and pretend that there are no bad kids out there? I'm swaying side to side just imagining the tune, the tune of blissful ignorance of reality.]
So I'm just going to have to be satisfied that, while I won't ever wish tragedy to befall any child or family, I apparently hold within me the ability to take joy that, sometimes, #&*()@$ kids get what they deserve. The irony, of course, is that here's a man advocating for my kid to be kicked off the A team so his precious could have more playing time. Oh, sweet irony, some days you are my bitch.