The Long Walk

Last week I wrote about spending time in Happy's preschool class, and the awesome things the kids said, but also how they were all very concerned about have to "take the long walk" to the Principal's Office if they are behaving like little schmidtheads make a bad choice. When the teacher mentioned it, the room would actually hush. It's about a 40 yard stroll between their classroom door and the Principal's, but they can make it take about 27 minutes, what with all the dreading and feet dragging and impassioned pleas to not have to go.

I've seen kids have to make The Long Walk. Over my six years at the preschool, I've also had to take a few. Just not Happy.

Until. Today.

Hi, I'm Kate and my kid -- apparently -- is a biter.

Groan.

We get him hustled off for school, complete with his Robin toy for Show 'n' Tell. When I get back home, I have three-and-a-half uninterrupted hours of Kate-time to get through e-mails, write something super funny for you guys, chat up Lydia, maybe throw in a load of laundry and generally be by myself for 200 minutes. And, now that McLovin and I have figured out his Stay-at-Home-Dad routine, he's decided that I'm not that interesting and he goes off to the driving range. Win/win.

Forty two minutes in, the phone rings. With a lovely voice on the other end telling me my son has gone off the freakin' reservation and now I have to come get him. Oh, and he can't come to school tomorrow. Policy.

And this is where all those years of Jack McCoy training come into play.

Me: Are you sure he bit someone?
School: Yes.
Me: How do you know?
School: The teacher said so.
Me: [crap, they have a witness] So, maybe they were just playing a game...
School: He has a bite mark on his finger.
Me: [shizzle...that's forensics] Is the kid OK? There's no broken skin, right?
School: He's fine.
Me: So, maybe Happy just allocutes and we all move on?
School: Preschool Penal Code 146.33.Subsection 4.
Me: [furkitty...precedent] Jack McCoy sucks. I'm on my way.

Go ahead and judge me, but I was equally pissed that my morning got blown to smithereens as I was that my kid made an appetizer of another boy's finger. I mean, he'd already had breakfast...not to mention that who knows where that finger had been.

On our way to the school, I get this text from our very kind, but sorta hardcore, Principal:
"So I asked Happy what happened and he very matter-of-factly said, 'he had the car, I wanted it, so I bit his finger. He had it for like a minute and I wasn't waiting.'"

Great. Now they have a confession too.

Happy is now not-so-happy, sitting on the sofa looking like Snoopy-as-a-Vulture. He's pissed at me that he doesn't get to do show-n-tell. He's pissed at me that he's not having snack right now with his friends. He's really pissed that he doesn't get to go back tomorrow, because tomorrow is the day they get to stay late and have lunch with the Teacher. And, he's arguing right now that losing his Wii privileges shouldn't be on the table, because the crime was committed at school and not at home.

Which actually makes me proud. He totally understands jurisdiction.


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