Testing Us Both

STOMP!

We had just start on our way to school this morning when the boy angrily stomped his foot down. Then he lamented how he forgot a picture for his “Share Day” and how he always forgets to bring in something for his “Share Day.”

STOMP!STOMP!

I sat quietly by for the moment, trying to judge the situation. The boy has a long, storied history of a temper that he either can’t, or simply refuses to, reign in. It can start out very benign, no more than a tad bit of frustration. Five minutes later he’s in the corner for smart-mouthing one of us. Or worse.

STOMP!

He wasn’t showing any signs of getting out of control, but the stomping was getting on my nerves, frankly. The words formed in my head like they had so many times before “Stop doing that- it won’t accomplish anything” and the many variations thereof. But this time, I held them back. I was suddenly curious, would he continue? Would it get worse?

STOMP!KICK

Now he’d kicked his backpack. We were about halfway to school. He hadn’t whipped himself into a frenzy yet. Plus, another thought came to mind: what if he’s just doing it for attention? What if he’s just trying to provoke a reaction from me just for some kind of weird emotional satisfaction? That might explain the “slow burn” nature of what he was doing.

He reached forward and roughly opened the glove compartment, perused the contents for something, didn’t find it and slammed it closed. Hard, but not too hard. Could have been comment worthy, but he clearly had restrained himself.

STOMP!KICK!

If he’d been a linebacker, there would probably be a hole in the floor at his feet. I was tempted to tell him he’d smoosh whatever he had in his lunch box but I didn’t. We were at the light just before the school. All I had to do was a right, 200 feet and I’d be turning in to drop him off.

He didn’t stomp or kick anymore. We arrived at the drop off and I told them both to have a good day. The boy roughly picked up his backpack and rushed out the door. He muttered some barely intelligible, dark words about how he couldn’t have a good day. The lass was her usual chipper self, all enthusiasm to be going to school. The boy had a frown etched on his face that was almost comical because of how mad he looked.

SLAM!

So does that count as passing?

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EPILOGUE:

I was at the doctor’s when the boy got home. I talked to the Wife and asked how the boy’s day went. She told me when she asked him he replied “Superb.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Do you know what that means?” he answered, “It’s a synonym for ‘good’. I prefer ‘superb’ because it sounds better.”

Superb.