Gandhi and the Go-Go Crazy Bones

Question: What do Mahatma Gandhi, the suffragettes and a Small boy aged 6 have in common?
Answer: The active application of passive resistance in the face of domination.

In fact, Small boy aged 6 could have taught Gandhi a thing or two. He refused point blank to exit the car and make the walk down to his class. Unfortunately for him, I still have a size and strength advantage. I heaved up the planking child and carried him stiff as a board down to his classroom. There is no payback in the world for the looks I received on the journey.

I deposited him at his desk and desperately sought back up in the form of his class teacher who was nowhere to be found. A cannier negotiator than Small boy aged 6 there never was. We agreed he would remain at school and I would reimburse him with a Go-Go Crazy Bones. So at some point I will have to brave the Mall and unearth one – not just anyone – a Drago one that opens so you can store another one in his tummy. I prefer not to think of it as bribery, but more like incentive based learning.

I passed by the headmistress on my out and explained the situation. She reacted in horror that I could have treated my child thus and that he must ill and I must be some sort of sadist. Considering what she threatened me with if he missed another day of school, I thought it was a bit rich.

Regardless I now sit cellphone in front of me waiting for the call to fetch him. I have a feeling it is less illness and more a desire to spend a cold winter’s day in the warmth of his Granny’s house being pampered and adored. A feeling I completely emphasise with.

I spent last night in a hell of my own making. When I left work I felt a twinge in my temple and ignored it. Ah, the signals of Armageddon are so subtle ignore them at your peril. I did. By 20:00 I was screaming in agony, throwing up pain killers and cursing Thomas Edison for ever inventing light bulbs.

If I could have blown my brains out, I would have. If I could have made it downstairs to the kitchen I would have grabbed a steak knife and as the Bible says, plucked the offending orb out. By the time the blissful peace of ibuprofen washed over me it was 2am. I got to work this morning, pulled up in the parking lot and had a nap in the backseat. Bliss.