Synonyms

In the thesaurus, under the entry for “mother,” one of the synonyms should be “chauffeur.” I was contemplating writing a persuasive letter to this effect last week while waiting outside the middle school for my son. I had only just begun “Dear Mr. Roget, I have a proposition for you…” when a fist fight broke out.

If I’m honest, I saw the familiar fist fight dance start before a single punch was thrown. Two boys were kind of circling each other, as other kids stood around in anticipation. I was in my car, so I couldn’t really hear any of the banter, but their posturing put me on alert.

Before I tell you the whole sordid tale, one that left my son wishing that the ground would open and swallow him up, I must be sure and paint the entire picture for you. MANY parents were playing chauffeur that day, both moms and dads, and the cars were lined up in two rows. If I had to guess, there were at least 40 cars along the school driveway full of weary drivers waiting for their charges.

When I saw the first punch, I didn’t move. Inside, I was desperately hoping one of them (especially the little guy) would just walk away. The onlookers started to egg them both on, however, and the circling continued.

At this point, my son was exiting the school, baseball bag over his shoulder, and started toward the car. He didn’t see the battle at first, but heard a cheer or two, and stopped to see what was up. The bigger boy threw Punch #2.

Suddenly, all the synonyms for “mother” started rattling through my brain:
Protector
Nurse
Care giver
Listener
ROLE MODEL

I jumped out of my car. By now, there are throngs of middle schoolers standing around watching – and all the same parents watching from their cars as well – as the bigger boy pummels the smaller one in the head over and over. I started to yell, “Stop!” as I moved across the grass towards the crowd. Kids started to scatter at my voice and most had that “I wasn’t involved” look on their faces at the sight of an adult.

I had to physically pry the boys apart while I repeated the phrase, “That’s enough,” about 15 times. The bigger kid was red faced and defiant, the smaller was red faced and embarrassed. They were both breathing heavily as they looked at me.

You know those moments when you have no idea what to say and you end up saying something really stupid? When my mouth finally opened, it said, “Guys, you are going to hurt each other.” Duh. Yeah, I know that was the whole point.

I asked their names, just to scare them a little, and then I finished gentle and pastoral with, “There are better ways to handle conflict, ok?” I patted them both on the back, made sure that the little guy’s pupils were not permanently dilated, and watched them walk away separately.

When I turned back around, everyone was staring at me – the students, the parents – but my son was nowhere to be found. I discovered him crouched down in the front seat of our car, and when I opened the door he said, “Let’s go, Mom. Just drive.”

As we went home, I felt a little like one of those unsuspecting persons on ABC’s “What Would You Do?” with John Quinones. Mortify your son or break up a fist fight?

Despite his preteen response, the answer to what should I do was not lost on my son, however. After we were out of sight range, my son sat back up and I said, “I’m sorry, Noah, if I embarrass you.”

He was smiling. “Are you kidding? You go, Mom. I’m glad you did that. It was right.”

Dear Mr. Roget,

Feel free to add “referee” too.