That Right Hook
When the Grown Son was little, he loved to jump out and scare me.
It was adorable when he was tiny.
But it got gradually more and more annoying as he grew older.
It culminated in one disastrous evening when he was 12.
He hid, ninja style, in the hall closet, waiting for just the right moment to jump out.
He was quiet, he was stealthy, and he was as devious as only an adolescent boy can be.
Finally, he pounced.
And scared the living **** out of me.
I screamed.
And instinctively threw a right hook.
When I saw what I had done, I burst out crying.
Because I hit my baby.
Hard.
I started yelling at him through my tears.
“Quit scaring me!”
Bob ran in to investigate the commotion.
I was bawling and yelling.
The Kid was still reeling from that right hook.
Bob laughed so hard he cried.
He told The Kid that’s what he gets for jumping out at me.
That was the last time my son did that.
Lesson learned.
He thinks it’s hilarious, now, to reference, “that time you punched me.”
Yeah, nah, it’s still not funny.
Well, maybe it’s a little bit funny.
OK, I’ll agree that it’s a lot funny, but he has to promise to never scare me again.
And never tell anyone that I punched him.
