Eight years old

17 Feb

‘That’s the one, Mum. That’s the one who hates me.’

To my careful eyes, the child at the top of the slide, laughing, head thrown back, looks adventurous, not like a bully at all.

‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. What makes you say she hates you?’

‘Well, whenever I just wave to her and say, “Hi, Lucinda” she starts chasing me until she catches me then punches my arm.’

I look again at the girl and she, for a moment, looks at me.

‘She doesn’t hate you, my love.’

And my mother’s heart begins its bleed.

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12 Responses to “Eight years old”

  1. Deborah February 17, 2009 at 9:33 am #

    Oh no. Your poor lad.

  2. Pavlov's Cat February 17, 2009 at 10:32 am #

    I got to ‘punches’ and while my heart didn’t quite bleed, it certainly sank. The minx.

    On a slightly related note, I thought of you last night as I watched Boston Legal and looked at the lovely James Spader, still irresistible even in his recently acquired chubbiness. I assume finding familiar television is less of problem in Abu Dhabi than it would once have been, though.

  3. fifi February 17, 2009 at 11:03 am #

    A boy I knew used to punch my arm by way of making me want to be his girlfriend.

    Horrid child, either way.

  4. blackbird February 17, 2009 at 12:54 pm #

    I have a particular glare I reserve for girls like that. And there have been many.

  5. Kath Lockett February 17, 2009 at 1:15 pm #

    Ohhhhh, that’s so wonderful. And painful; especially for the son. As for the girl, I’m sure she stole my technique.

  6. tut-tut February 17, 2009 at 4:04 pm #

    And so it begins . . .

  7. Francis Xavier Holden February 17, 2009 at 4:38 pm #

    What ever happened to frogs down the back of the neck?

    3cat – teach him not to be so cool – being cool means missing out. I know.

  8. Francis Xavier Holden February 17, 2009 at 4:40 pm #

    oh and Lucinda – oooh -aah – I’m going to see Ms Williams in April

  9. ThirdCat February 18, 2009 at 7:58 am #

    At this point, FXH, I’m doubting that I can teach either of them very much at all.

  10. Ariel February 19, 2009 at 7:40 am #

    Ohhh, sweet. Did you explain it to him?

    I was once (improbably) charmed by a boy who offered to give me a ride home school on his handlebars and push me off as he passed my front yard.

  11. dr February 19, 2009 at 11:31 pm #

    My daughter (5) has a friend whose ritual game of greeting with her is to “be shy of her”: he runs away, and she’s supposed to chase and tickle him. Apparently, this is a significant part of how the genders interact at his kindergarten, although I’m glad to say it isn’t a part of hers.

    I suppose I’m a bit relieved that the girls are the aggressors (although my daughter’s friend initiates the game), rather than the boys . . . but, really, I’d prefer a different option entirely. Sigh.

  12. shula April 1, 2009 at 8:10 am #

    And so it begins.

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