Party in the Park

Hello friends, I’m back! I hope y’all had a nice weekend. Mine was great (minus the 12 hours I spent sitting on a hard plastic chair feigning interest.) A very dear friend of mine had a BBQ Saturday night and I got to spend some time with friends I haven’t seen in ages, and make some new ones. After the meat was cooked and we stopped tearing at the flesh with our teeth, grunting and snarling, we placed some fire wood on the coals and had a nice little camp fire. Then we spent the rest of the evening revolving around the fire, trying to keep out of way of the smoke. I’m pretty sure I inhaled the equivalent of one months worth of a pack a day habit, but it was totally worth it.

When I woke up the next morning reeking of camp fire smoke I, most understandably, went directly to the bathroom for a shower. That was when I discovered that the drain in my shower would no longer and do want it was born to do. Drain. Nope, nothing doing. Not even an entire bottle of Draino was going to make a difference. So, did the next best thing. I began calling all my friends desperately looking for place to bathe. Luckily, I found one nearby.

Once I got the stink off of me, I headed to Beale Park to participate in a birthday party for my friend’s two-year old little girl. My friend, Autumn, had dutifully attempted to cover as much of the graffiti and tagging as should could with plastic little Sponge Bob table clothes, but there was nothing she could do about writing on the beams and covering overhead. She had a hell of time taking pictures without getting any tagging in the view.

At one point during the day, I walked with the children to the playground. (There was a Hello Kitty bounce house in use at another party across the way, and the kids at my party were DYING to desert us and infiltrate the other party. I am now convinced that those things should come with a giant tarp strung up on all sides to block the view. And perhaps include a serious looking security guard instructing children, ‘Nothing to see here. Move along. Just keep it moving. That’s right.’) Next to the sandy area the children I was with played in, was another, smaller area were I noticed two tiny, little boys sort of play fighting. Nearby was a small group of teenagers egging them on. I say “sort of play fighting” because they really were trying to get in the best shot and/or take each other down, no doubt in hopes of gaining the admiration of the older children nearby. One of the boys was maybe 3 or 4, and the smaller one was maybe 2 or 3. They were that small. I bring all of this up so you can better appreciate what happened next. The somewhat larger boy, after knocking the other on his itty-bitty ass, shouted to him, with perfect clarity, “F- you Asshole!!” To which the tot responded, “F- you!” That was about the time I had a heart attack.

As the supervising teens hooted and hollered, and the blood drained from my face, I gathered the children in my watch and headed back to the safety of our party patio. There I told my friend what had happened and made some hysterical threats to call CPS. She shook her head and reminded me that they probably wouldn’t do anything any way.

It makes me sad, and a little scared to see children being raised this way. And it makes me appreciate how wonderful my son is even more.