So, I Gave Birth to a Serial Killer

I am raising a serial killer. Here is proof:

Monday I go to pick my darling son – the soon-to-be serial killer—up from daycare. Out of the corner of my eye, as I’m signing him out, I see the teacher sitting at a table and sternly telling a few children something about a frog. You know that split second where you can think one million things? Yeah this is mine… I was putting the time on the sign out sheet as I hear the teacher tell the children in a very grave tone that shaking the frog was wrong. VERY WRONG.

I’m putting the pen down, starting to turn around… hoping, praying that I don’t see my son at the table of frog torturers. All the while hearing the teacher railing against the injustice this poor frog has suffered. Sure enough… there’s my little killer…err angel.. sitting at the table with two other boys. He notices me noticing him and runs crying to me. I take him back to the table and sit down to listen to the case against him.

Apparently he and the two hooligans he was hanging with that day decided – even after strict warnings from the teacher and class room aides—to shake the terrarium. Yes, the little devils shook the house of the frog. Then thumped on the plastic.

I had been listening to the teacher tell the kids how wrong this was, etc. In my mind I’m wondering how my little boy has turned into such a horrible person. I wonder if maybe, just perhaps, this whole deployment business has finally done him in – he’s torturing animals!!!! I’m planning my finances, wondering how I’ll afford the bail and legal defense of my offspring.

Then I hear it… the teacher actually says: This poor frog is having a panic attack. A panic attack? The frog.. yes the frog.. was having a panic attack. I look up at the teacher to be sure I understood correctly. I realize that I’ve been sitting here for at least five minutes listening to her chastise these poor kids about a FROG.

I finally say, “Gunner, apologize to Ms. S for not listening to her instructions.” Dutifully he did so… then started crying again when Ms. S. told him he was forgiven but that the frog deserved an apology. Seriously?

Thankfully, before I had to actually come up with a response for this, we were interrupted by some other ruckus in the classroom. I gather up my fiend of a child and we head out. I catch the eye of another mother of a felon-in-training. I can tell she’s not sure if she should laugh or scold her son.

Out in the hallway I have a conversation with the little guy:

ME: Baby, you know that we shouldn’t hurt animals, right?

G: Yes, ma’am.

ME: I mean you wouldn’t shake Kado while he was sleeping in his cage, right? ::Kado is my in-laws 100 lb German Shepherd::

G: MOMMMY! Noooo, we don’t hurt animals.

ME: Ok. Just checking.

G: Mommy? You aren’t going to shake a dog are you?

ME: Of course not.

G: Good because then a dog would shake you back. Then you’d be a frog. Then Ms. S would yell at the dog for shaking you.

And he bursts out laughing hysterically. Oh how I love my son – even if he is going to be in prison before he hits third grade.