A Snitch in Time

A snitch in time doesn’t save nine.

Lauren has been on a tear of ratting me out to my wife and beside the fact that it’s in her own interest to keep the extra TV time on the down-low (just kidding), I am concerned that she will become in the habit of ratting out her school mates during recess.

Beside the fact that nobody likes a stool pigeon, being a playground informant can have some serious consequences. Nobody wants their daughter (or son) on the receiving end of a popsicle stick shiv.

So to keep her from harms way, I am instructing her to do what every new kid in the school yard does, find the baddest , toughest and biggest kid in on the playground and knee him in his nut-sack, then give it to him-pow-in the kisser, and then all the other kids think she’s crazy and keep their distance.

Ok, so school is not really like every prison movie we’ve seen. But still, beside the fact that she shouldn’t feel the necessity to report any variation in parenting to the presumed generalissimo, I mean generalism-a of parenting, it’s important not to be one of those kids who tattle on everybody like Margaret from Dennis the Menace.

You might think I’m just trying to keep her from ratting on me, but really, I’m teaching her the law of the playground.