There have been a few times in my life when I’ve realized that I was now Daddy instead of plain ol’ Dave.
The first such instance was when we brought Anthony home and we watched our first ballgame together a day later. As a baseball fan, that was a big deal to me. Second was when we made our first Hot Wheels track and loop that ran the length of the living room and spit out the patio door. If you’re a girl, you just won’t understand.
The third, and perhaps most important, took place this week and it didn’t even involve me. See, Anthony has started to attend preschool a few days a week since, in about a year or so, he will be ready for kindergarten—yet another milestone.
What I’m talking about is his first run-in with a school bully, which Anthony refers to as “The Boy in the Green Jacket” but whom I will appropriately refer to as Scut Farkas.
Seems Scut is the only kid in the class that has had a problem with the arrival of my son and has let him know by hitting him the first day and then, according to the teacher, “waling on him” on Thursday.
To the teacher’s credit, Ann did see her speaking with Scut and Mr. and Mrs. Farkas the other day after school and apparently was letting them have it over Scut’s behavior. If said talking-to does not get through to any of the Farkases then it’ll be our time to intervene, especially if Scut hurts my son.
Anthony is a well-meaning, sincere child and is also sharp as a tack. He also has my temper that, when provoked, isn’t very pretty. I’ve already instructed Anthony that if an unprovoked Scut ever lays another hand on him, he is to finish the job by hitting back and hitting him back hard. We’ll see how Scut and his yellow eyes like it then.
This rule will follow him his entire life: if you start a fight, there’ll be hell to pay. If you’re defending yourself, you did the right thing.