Crime and Punishment

Last night my son and I shared a soup dinner at home together. His new favorite: Progresso's chicken and corn chowder, with buttered Saltines on the side.

He was quite animated. Some days he barely grunts a reply:
"How was your day."
"Uh."
"Good?"
"Uh, yeah."
Other days he's full of stories. I'm always glad when I'm home to receive them.

Here's his story:

The eighth graders often play Pin Guard downstairs during the first part of their morning homeroom. I have no idea what "Pin Guard" is but I like Mr. B very much, his English and homeroom teacher, so I trust Mr. B. has come up with a plan to energize these sleepy teenagers before they start their day.

Yesterday morning big Zeller (names changed to protect the innocent) got in a tussle with Frenchy. (Now, Frenchy is a neighbor kid, a funny Italian kid who reminds me a lot of Ray Ramano on Everybody Loves Raymond. He's actually sweet in all kinds of ways but very talkative and kind of loud. One of those loud voices you might hear on the "L" in Chicago, the one that is giving detailed directions to the tourists, "And then you're gonna wanna get off at the Oak Park stop. Now you're gonna wanna watch closely so you don't miss it. . . .")

Anyway, Zeller is a kid about six foot who got kicked out of his Catholic elementary school for fighting and he's got a reputation. So Zeller and Frenchy get into it a little bit during Pin Guard and Mr. B tells them to knock it off and go sit in the corner of the gym and be quiet and cool off. (Now I didn't hear all the details from my son so I don't know if they sat in the corner and kept jawing at each other. Sometimes my son leaves out parts deliberately and sometimes he just forgets.)

So that afternoon Frenchy is out on the corner waiting for the bus. My son is still at his locker back in school, gathering his things. He heard that big Zeller came up from behind Frenchy and clobbered him in the cheek. Louie Q. saw the whole thing and went running into school to tell the principal and then upstairs to tell Mr. B. Those three came rushing out and just then my son came out, too. (I asked my son, thinking how much it must hurt to get sucker-punched like that, "Did Frenchy cry?" "Nah," he said, "he just swore.")

So Frenchy and my son take the bus home and walk together to Frenchy's house to do their homework. Most days they alternate between Frenchy's house and our house, depending on whose got the best snacks in the house that day.

My son said that the principal called Frenchy at home after school and said that she had talked long and hard with Zeller and he had told his parents that yes, he had done that, but that Frenchy had been taunting him. So the principal asked if big Zeller and his mom could come over now and apologize to Frenchy. (I asked, "What did Frenchy say to that?" My son said, "He said he was busy." I asked, "And then what did he do?" My son said, "He hung up the phone and then he swore.")

So the principal ended up calling Frenchy's parents at work and it was worked out that indeed Zeller and his mom were coming over that evening to apologize.

I asked my son, "Did Frenchy's parents believe Frenchy?"

"Of course," he said.

"Was Frenchy taunting Zeller?"

"Mom. No, he wasn't taunting Zeller. He couldn't have been. Zeller hit him from behind. But that's not the point. The point is that even if Zeller was being taunted that's no reason to punch someone in the head."

(Yes, the things they teach us, these kids.)

Then my son said, "If I get to school tomorrow and Zeller isn't in trouble and all he had to do was apologize I'm going to the principal." (Now my son looks pretty ticked-off.)"Let's see, he beat up a kid half his size last year and he picked on Louie and he even beat up Marlene. Why should he keep getting away with this?"

"He beat up Marlene?" I ask. Marlene is a savvy hockey player and the prettiest girl in the class. This is news to me.

"Has he ever done this to you?" I ask. My son is taller than me and a solid kid but Zeller is taller even than my husband and thick.

"I got in a fight with him at lock-in last year." My son is still agitated.

"But it looks like he respects you. He's always saying 'See ya, T.' at football and giving you a pat on the shoulder when you sack the quarterback," I say.

My son loosened up a bit and he paused for a long time.

"Yeah, he has a serious anger problem."

I think for awhile. Parents tend to always bring stories about other kids back to their own. A kid will be telling a story about some schoolmates who smoked pot out on the athletic shed roof and then soon enough we parents will inevitably ask, "Have you ever smoked pot on the athletic shed roof?"

I ask my son, "Do you ever think you have an anger problem?"

After another pause, my son said, "Nah. I don't have an anger problem. But if I don't like a person, usually by how they act to me or how they act to my friends, I know that it's going to take a long time for anyone to convince me otherwise. I guess you could say I have a stubborn problem."

What I wouldn't give to be one of those lunch ladies in the school cafeteria today.