The Fruits of Our Labor

Before I begin this story, I would like everyone to know that I work very hard to teach my son manners and to be polite to everyone. But, after moving to Idaho and next to my brother-in-law, there is now greater (more primal) forces at work. While I teach my son not to hit or kick, his uncle teaches me that when it comes to family wrestling matches there is no boundaries. We will just say that Uncle Todd can take a punch.

The evening started off with good intentions. An energy outlet with the cousins at Arctic Circle.

Later that evening, my son jumped off the slide, and ran as fast as he could across the playground to another family.

He then proceeded to pummel the elderly father sitting at the bench. When I say pummel, I mean Rocky Balboa could not have withstood the force of his blows.

Over and Over again he punched, double fisted into the elderly mans stomach.

I, horrified, bolted over to my son to tear him from his prey.

Once I shook the gnarled look off my sons face, I pointed to the elderly man and lovingly, always lovingly, asked my son "What are you doing?!! Do you know him?!!"

My son looked from me to the man, then to me, then to the man. He eyes welled with tears and he began to cry.

"Where is Uncle Todd?" he sobbed to me.

When I realized the mistake he had made and realized just how much this man looked like Uncle Todd, I began to laugh.

The Man did not.

I quickly explained the funny mistake to the man, who only smiled slightly. I then backed away with my son in tow, to pick up our things and leave.

My gratitude to my brother-in-law for his giving his two cents in rearing my child.