My Baby's a Bully

When I was a kid, my best friend, Nate, was the little boy up the street. We used to play "wargames." I am not entirely sure how it is that we knew what wargames were, but we played them, nonetheless.

We would dress in camo and warpaint, don fake weapons, and plant fake incendiary devices around his grandma's house. Then we'd lie in wait. We would hang back until someone came out of the house calling us and we would pick up pots and pans (conveniently stashed near our hideout) and begin banging relentlessly until we scared the bejesus out of Nate's gram. We were about 8 years old at the time.

We also would play "V"- for those that don't remember, V was a tv show in the 80's that was about aliens who came to earth to steal our water and eat people. They looked like humans but were really lizardy. Oh and they talked funny(for the first season) and ate live rats. I always got to play the Starchild-Elizabeth (the one with powers) cause I was the only girly one.

Anyway, the playground monkey bars were our homebase and all the other kids in class were the aliens (we were the resistance), recess always ended in someone (not one of us) crying cause they got knocked in the mud (usually by me). I was an elementary school bully, not like a mean bully, but, well, yes, exactly like that . . .

Here is my point. I am reminded by all of this because of my young son. He recently hid in a closet and proceeded to bang pots and pans at me to scare me. He thought it was funny and said "that was funnier than pushing you in the mud mommy!"

It just reminded me of when I was a kid. My baby's gonna be a bully. I'm so proud. . .