Frank climbed into the backseat of my car with his usual scowl. After waiting in his school car line to pick him up I may have been sporting a scowl of my own. I’m pretty sure that because of my own unusual upbringing I tend to see this kid from a more amusing point of view. He immediately gets into my car complaining about his day, always annoyed by the baby seat that sits in the middle of the backseat of my car. He reminds me that he hates that baby seat, and I remind him that he’s told me that before.
He goes straight into his disgruntled complaints about how the car seat embarrasses him. I go straight to pointing out that no one in the car line thinks it’s for him. I ask him if he has his seat belt on? He replies that he’s not going to put it on with that baby seat sitting next to him. I respond by telling him if he doesn’t buckle up I won’t drive away so we are in danger of someone having more time to see the baby seat. Then I hear his seat belt click, and we start to drive away.
This is the point where I ask him how his day was, secretly amused at the fact that Mr. Doom & Gloom is getting ready to tell me how horrible it was, and knowing fully well that he will add a few descriptive cuss words to enhance his usual disdain for his fellow classmates. Trying to be humorous I ask him how every single day is always so rotten, ignoring his colorful language. He tells me it’s because everyone is sooo…stupid!
Then he announces his usual desire to beat the crap out of whichever kid is driving him the most crazy that day. I am beginning to see that every conversation is a test to see my reactions, so I stick with my humor. The interesting thing is that my humor is above that of a nine year-old boy, but he has no trouble keeping up with my word play. Sometimes it feels like he is a crotchety old man being forced to relive his life in another child’s body.
He tells me my car is ugly, and that the baby seat, and the other toys make it look even crappier. I smile at him through my rear view mirror, and tell him well it’s cleaner than your room. He tells me that it’s old, and that he freaking hates it, pausing again to see my reaction. I smile at him again, and I tell him oh yeah well at least it has windows. He looks up at me through my rear view mirror this time smirking. He knows that I am joking about his boarded up windows that he broke out mid tantrum in his room before Christmas.
Mom is still not to happy with me since our last conversation when I suggested Frank needed psychiatric help, but she’s not willing to let me go just yet either. I think that there have been quite a few other personal assistants before me. 😉
There is two of us actually, G-uno and g2. We have been friends for a while, met through our own similarities in duality, openness and love of listening. Our differences as well as our similarities always border on the extreme.