Bad Samson

Last week (Tuesday to be precise), I arrived home and was greeted by a grinning Samson. He had milk --- or possibly yogurt --- dripping down his chin, and he proclaimed, with apparent satisfaction: "I did a bad job at school today."

Apparently, Samson has been testing his teachers lately. On the day in question, he got not one but two time-outs. The first he earned by hitting his classmate, Maeve, in the head with a puzzle piece.

Which, all things considered, is better than hitting her with a truck or a chair or something else. But it's still not good. Of course, he gave himself up right away. When Maeve started to cry, he told his teacher "I hit Maeve." I'm not sure it was a confession as much as a "hey-look-at-me" kind of moment, but you've got to give him credit for honesty.

Infraction number two came later, during naptime. All the kids were asleep --- or at least resting quietly --- on their cots when Sammy Sunshine stood up on his and belted out a verse of "Twinkle, Twinkle." Again, not the stuff that indicates a future in reform school but still something that must be dealt with. So that night, we had a long talk.

The trouble is that at age 2 there's not much appreciation for taking away things in the future. As in, "we won't go to the park tomorrow."

Likewise, at the end of the day, there are only a few things to take away:

Dinner, which we would never do [he's skinny enough as it is].

Bath, which we really shouldn't do (especially on school days).

And La-La. Which, and perhaps I'm being selfish here, would probably only be worth it if he committed homicide. Or maybe man-1.

Anyway, he did get sent to bed that night with no stories. And that seemed to work: He cried a lot and eventually came around to the idea that one shouldn't hit one's classmates with anything.

As if to make sure he understood me, we went through a checklist of things he is not allowed to hit his classmates with, including but not limited to trains, books, sandwiches, diapers, shoes, cheese, bananas, and straws(?).

The report from school on Friday and today was that he did just fine. Played, ate, napped, and was a good citizen. Here's hoping he can keep it up. We've got a trip to the circus with his school this coming Friday, and I don't want to be that dad with that kid. Remember that kid from your pre-school?

And yes, Bryan K. I am looking at you. It's been 30 years since "the Toughskins incident," but I'll find you.

As God is my witness, I'll find you.

And though our teacher is probably dead, or at least in senescence somewhere in the sunbelt states, the truth will at last be told. Our teacher, who believed your lies and sent me home with a note will at long last know that I didn't "wet my pants."

No sir, I did not. You, Bryan K., peed on me.

Also, I bet you have a son named Kyle.