Six Long Years

My Godson is turning six. Ironic how he is my "God"son, but is actually the spawn of satan. All that's missing is the horns and tail.

At first, it didn't strike me. But now, I think, and I can't believe he is six. I can't believe it for a few reasons, and they are all contradictory. One-I never realized that he actually made it past the terrible twos. I thought things got better after two. Apparently he dropped the two, but kept the terrible! Two - since spending five minutes with him equivalent of a grueling five hours, it seems as though he has been around for a long time now. Well beyond six years. Three-he is a giant. A freak of nature almost. Since the day he was born we deemed him a line-backer. He never fit in anything less than six-month old clothes. 

At my school, it is a rarity for a kindergartner to get sent to the principal's office. For him, he goes at least once a week, sometimes more. Some of his antics include, but are not limited to, telling the librarian that she is evil (if that isn't calling the pot black, I don't know what is), booing a book about President Obama and shouting, "Obama sucks! Obama sucks!", and telling his teacher to shove a book up her booty. This is not normal, don't you agree?

Anyways, in looking for a safe gift to give to a little imp of a boy, I have had some difficulty. It is a sad truth, that almost anything can become a weapon for this child. So, with the help of my lovely, angelic seeming fifth graders, I have come to the conclusion that he will get a Pillow Pal. 

He surely will hit people with it, but it will do less damage than say, a baseball bat or a light saber.