Fed to the wolves

It was the first day of school and I was dropping Sonny off at the middle school. As we approached the drop off zone I noticed several tiny kids walking toward the school. It was some of the new batch of sixth graders. Their sixth grade status was obvious due to both their tiny stature and the nervous look in their eyes. They looked so cute that I couldn’t help but utter, “aaaaaaaaaaw! Look at the little sixth graders! They are so adorable.” I am a mom after all and the sight of those tiny sixers brings back memories of the days when my own kids, now giant teenagers, were tiny little things off to their first day of middle school.

Just as Sonny was hurrying out of the car, I spotted the cutest little sixer yet. He was even tinier than the others with a mop of white blonde hair on his head and a backpack nearly as big as he was on his back. I was opening my mouth to utter another “aaaaaaaaaaaaw” when I spotted something else about this little guy. My aaaw suddenly turned into a “noooooooooooooo”. The poor little guy was wearing shorts, and he had on gym socks! How could he not know? What about his mother? Where was she when he got dressed this morning? Does she work early? Is she not there when he gets ready for school? Surely she must not be, because what mother would let her child go to middle school wearing shorts and long white socks? It is the equivalent of dressing him in a sheep costume and setting him in the middle of a pack of wolves. He’ll be eaten alive!

I had an overwhelming urge to burst out of my car, run over to him and pull his socks down around his ankles. That was, of course, overpowered by my desire to not be arrested for accosting an eleven year old. I had no choice but to simply drive away.

Rest in peace adorable, little sixth grader. Rest in peace.