Mothers: the kryptonite of 10 year olds

I’m in the library study room, minding my own business watching a movie, reading a book, updating my blog and checking my e-mail (I multi-task).

Two kids, no older than twelve, walk by.

Five minutes later they walk by again and one of them knocks on the door, then runs off.

Two minutes after that, they walk by again. One of them opens the door and says,

Hurry up.

To which I respond with by dropping the F-bomb. Then the A-bomb.

In the next ten minutes they walk by again several times, each time getting closer and closer to opening the door on me, each time taunting me through the glass separating the study rooms from the rest of the library.

Finally, they walk by again and one of them says,

Meet me outside.

I get up, close my laptop, gather my belongings. He walks out of sight relatively quickly.

His friend is slower. He opens the door and says,

He said, ‘Meet me outside.’

I say, “what are you, ten?” Realizing as I say it how ironic it would be if it were actually true.. (actually, that’d be the exact opposite of ironic. Perhaps, ‘expected’ is the word I’m looking for.)

Then, I drop the mom-bomb: “Where is your mother. I’m going to speak to her.”

He stammers,

My mom? You think I come here with my mom?

But, before I can answer, he speed walks out of the library.

That was twenty minutes ago. They haven’t been back since.

Mothers. The kryptonite of ten year olds.

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