Being a Cope Street Bully

Tonight's dinner was in honor of my friend's, niece, who is 13 years old. On the way to the dinner, I reflected that I no longer knew what anyone that age was like, or what they did, or what year in school they were. Indeed the last encounter with a 13 year-old was at a movie theater when I threw my bucket of popcorn over some big-mouthed kid who wouldn't shut the hell up. (Ok- while this space is a place for me to embellish my wildest dreams, that really didn't happen).

Well, niecey is a sweetie and dinner was fine. It only struck me as I was driving through my po'dunk hood why I really didn't like those 8th grade punks. Two of them (boys) were playing on the side of the road, frolicking in the bushes. As I passed them, I saw out of the corner of my eye the white punk kid wind his arm and throw something at my car.

Without thinking, I immediately slammed on the brakes and threw my Blazer into reverse, the transmission almost dropping on the ground. The fat kid just stood there calmly stroking a tree with a stick, while the other punk immediately beat it into an overgrown yard.

"Hey!" I yelled out the window. "Get the hell back here."

The kid stopped and I was pleased that he listened, turned around and slowly inched his way toward me.

"What the hell are you doing?" (When you live on Cope street, every sentence must have the word "hell" in it for anyone- even 13 year-old punks- to understand).

His reply, simply: "Nothing." (don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact)

"Why the hell did you just throw something at my vehicle?" I realize now I am actually kind of bullying the punk, and am getting concerned about where this will actually lead. For all I know his wife-beating dad and pitbull could be around the corner.

"I thought... your car looks like my friend's," he stammered.

"Oh. So you throw things at your friends?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Well, don't throw things! Jesus!"

By this time I am blocking traffic and the punk-ass boys are ready to laugh at me. Almost humiliated, I drive away. Now I am scared they are really going to sabotage my car- probably pop a tire or throw stink bombs in my window. I wish I could have been meaner- taught them a real lesson somehow-so they know not to mess with me, but even now, I feel sheepish for yelling at the kid. (As I drove away I saw him pull a red berry off the tree and throw it at my bumper.) I thought about repeating the dramatic scolding escapade, but decided better of it. What was I going to say now, "Don't do that because it is not nice?", "Please don't throw things at passing cars?"

These children don't really know "nice". Hence the reason why they were throwing frickin berries at my car in the first place. whyiotta...

I remember a scene in Tommy Boy when Julie Warner and Chris Farley are on a boat and the same bratty-type of kids start making fun of them when Warner turns sharply saying, "I know where you live and I've seen where you sleep. I swear to everything holy that your mothers will cry when they see what I've done to you. "

I don't know if you, the reader, can hear in her voice or see in her face the conviction to which she speaks during this scene, but I wish I had that today.