Pesky Rascal

I was with a fellow parent at school earlier, discussing this curious age that our children have entered, this stage called "preteens." It seems that our 12-year-old daughters have grown overnight. Their interests have shifted, they are more forthcoming with their opinions, and they are enjoying the concept of privacy more. They all remain very wholesome still, with Belli even less sophisticated than the rest of her friends, I believe, given her personality.

But there is this one pesky boy, who was a transferee from some other school, and who, naturally, has attracted some degree of attention because he is the newest fish in the pond. He is, in every way, the stereotype of your garden-variety grand stander, show-off, who thinks he is God's gift. In the period of one year, he has courted almost every girl in their grade and, in "tween" parlance, gone "M.U." with each one. Of course, every time he hops over to the next girl, he leaves some poor child broken-hearted, even if they may not admit it, or at least pissed, in his wake.

I have gone down on my knees, thanking THE MAN that Belli has been spared from this little twirp. She couldn't be bothered; she's more into her toys and games than boys just yet. But she sees how every other girl has had to deal with this boy. She says, "He is gross, Mama!" And I completely agree. I ask myself, how the heck did a boy like this sprout from a mother who looks like an oriental Madonna. She truly looks like the Virgin Mary, in Pinoy street terms, mukhang Nene. She seems totally oblivious to his son's detestable ways.

I always bump into him at school and see him strutting down the halls if not posing against the wall with all the attitude of a slimy loser. And I feel like pinching his ear till it detaches from his big head. I actually have to convince myself to stand down because kneeing him in the groin seems the more logical thing to do (I didn't say the more mature thing; I simply said, "more logical"). But you know what psychologists say about our kids, "Let them fight their own fights..." This is one time I'm dying to say, well, that's a load of B.S. Yes, he hasn't done anything to Belli but wouldn't it be nice to burst his bubble?

Really, one of these days, I might just flip him the finger, so heaven help me! In the meanwhile, I let the better of me prevail and keep my fingers firmly tucked in my jean pockets. For how long? No one knows...