April 14, 2009: AKA...the day I became my mother

A story for Ramona:

Picture it...Eagle River, Alaska...it's 2009...A young peasant girl...

Ok, ok, ok. I'm not Sophia Patrillo. This is not the Golden Girls. But I have a story for you. It's about a girl named Megan. A fat kid in the street. And Boy Wonder's absolute embarrasment.

Me and BW were leaving the library last night and I got pulled over. (Don't you dare judge me.) Something about my front windows being too darkly tinted for Alaska regulations...blah blah blah. I get a warning. I'm pulled off into a neighborhood that I'm sure has a short cut back to my house somehow, if we could only find it.

BW is riding shotgun. Every thirty seconds I get a "Are you sure you know where you're going?" or "I'm hungry. Can we go home? I want to eat my snacks."

Rollin' down a side street, I'm approaching an intersection. And a fat little bastard kid about 11 or 12 on a goofy looking bicycle. (Ok. I admit it. I was jealous of his bike. See: left. I had a damned banana seat nightmare with freakin' lime green streamers when I was 12. Lame!)

Anyway, I'm rollin' up on them, being the responsible mom-ish person and going slow. Slow. Kid moves about an inch out of the road. Maybe an inch more. Clearly doesn't think he or his buddies need to vacate the road. Clearly staring me down. Daring me to go around. WTF? I'm in a pick-up truck, player. I'd totally win this game of chicken. But noooo he's determined to show his friends he made an adult go around.

I think I got to within two millimeters of said fat ass and his aptly named "fatboy" bike before he finally moved. Very slowly. And not completely out of the way. I rolled on past and when I glanced in the rearview, he was yelling something and flipping me off!

Oh. Hell. No.

Boy Wonder sees this. He goes "Oooooohhhh, that' boy is a bad boy." I nearly hit a fire hydrant in my Dukes of Hazzard-like driving to turn around and get me a piece of that action. As I speed back to the spot, fatty bum-bum panics and starts to make a break, but his friends are clowning so he stays. I throw the park in truck and hop out.

"What was that?" I ask, walking straight at him.

He shrugs, seconds from pissing his pants. Baaaaha!

"You have something to say to me?"

A slight shaking of his head. He wont' even look at me.

"You want to keep that finger, player, I suggest you be careful who you throw it at. You hear me?"

Nothing.

"I said, did you hear me?"

He nods. Hahahahaha. Clearly defeated. Clearly not as big and bad in his friends eyes anymore.

"That's what I thought, you little punk."

Triumph. I drive away. Then it hits me.

O. M. G.

I am my mother.

I remember some point in the 80s when my mom laid the smackdown on some nasty kid at a puppet show at Six Flags. She had the damn kid by the ear and led him to security for being mean to Speedy Gonzalez or someother costume character. I was mortified.

But BoyWonder took it in stride.

"Mom, if he would have fought you, I would have run him over with our truck."

Good man. Good man. I'm still kinda embarrased, though. At least I kept some street cred by threatening bodily harm (losing his finger) and not something too lame (calling his mother).

Hell, I'd take her finger too.