Yesterday Mr. Eight overheard a kid telling his older sister that his Mom was a pig.
Enraged, he immediately sought out JMay, as she was actually at elsewhere at the school lunch ladying.
Nearly in tears, he recounted what he’d heard.
JMay gave him the patient, “well, he may call me fat but should I start crying? I can’t let the opinions of others change how I feel about myself…,” yadda, yadda, yadda.
Then she went and found the kid, because fuck that.
Stella, being the recipient of the comment, knew immediately why her mother had wandered into her hallway.
“Is this about the joke?”
They were telling Yo Mama jokes – no offense was intended, as with all ten-year-olds their standup routines just sucked.
“Ooooooh,” said JMay, and then she went about her day.
Except she got busy and didn’t have time that afternoon to loop back to Mr. Eight.
Now, you’ve got to understand that this is a boy who still wears feety pajamas with very little coaxing. He’s as gentle as a breeze cooling a dove perched on an olive branch.
– but, man, that child loves his moms.
By the end of the day he’d worked himself into quite a head of steam about it. At final bell he actually gave the kid unyielding jock shoulder in the hallway, then basically started trying to rouse him into a fight.
Fortunately a neighbour kid did his best Gene Okerlund and kept the two apart.
Eight came home a sweaty teary mess, and then we had to explain Yo Mama jokes to him. (We also underlined that, even if the offender had meant what he’d said, violence was not the answer.)
Once he understood what had happened he felt bad and said he would apologize.
The point, I suppose, is: If you’ve been sitting on some prime Mom jokes all these years, apparently eight-year-olds should be your target audience.
Just be ready in case they take a swing.
