He knows not what he does

Last weekend my kids and I were able to attend the Respress family reunion in Frostproof. These people encompass my mother’s side of the family and there were about 150 members of our extensive relations present.

The best part of our family gatherings, besides seeing how big the children are getting, is the food. I supplied Maryland Fried Chicken which is just about the best chicken you can get without making it yourself.

I also brought pink stuff; a concoction made of cottage cheese, cool whip, pineapple, pecans, and Jello mix. It usually tastes pretty good, but I made it wrong so I had a whole bunch of pink goo to take home and dump in the trash. It didn’t smell good after a couple days in the garbage.

I had to tell my son that all the girls at the reunion were related to him. I asked if he understood what that meant. He said yes, but I was skeptical.

Though the boy is only twelve, he has been getting himself into some situations lately that I’m not particularly happy about.

For instance, it seems like every other week since he started middle school, he has been calling a different girl his “girlfriend.” I use that term loosely because I had assumed this was fairly innocent being that the “relationship” was confined between the weekday hours of 8am until 3pm.

I mean, what harm could come from having a platonic relationship at school?

Then I caught him kissing a girl in the neighborhood.

Now things have completely changed.

I guess, as a parent, I viewed my son as this little boy who would be a bit shy about actually taking that next step with a girl. I was 14 when I first kissed a boy. I figured I’d have at least 2 more years before my son decided to try and contract oral herpes.

Suddenly, the freedoms he used to have with skateboarding and riding his bike to his buddy’s house have switched to “Call me when you get there” followed by me driving by to get a visual confirmation of his whereabouts like an undercover police officer on a stakeout.

If he doesn’t answer his phone, I go ballistic.

Tonight, he wants to go to a football game so he can sit with the new love of his life for this week. I’m sure he thinks I’m going to leave him there unattended, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m prepared to torture my tailbone on the bleachers and listen to his little sister point and stare at her big brother for two hours; all for the sake of saving him from himself.

Visual contact will be maintained at all times and there will be no bathroom breaks.

Respress boys are adorable and they grow up to be good-looking men. So do those Hutchins men.

When I look at my son and think of the entire DNA that went into making him such a tall, handsome boy, I wonder if there isn’t such a thing as an ugly stick that I could lovingly tap him with for a few years; strictly for his own good, of course.

Until then, girls, be warned. You are officially being put on alert, so don’t mess with my son. He’s still my baby and you can’t have him until we sign papers agreeing on his release conditions.

I’ll thank you in advance for your cooperation in this matter.