There’s this Guy that assists the Master in Ducky’s Tae Kwon Do class. I was telling Babafa that the Guy is a freaking show off. He’s always making small tasks into a center stage performance.
Like when Master Jin tells the kids to do push ups, he’ll have that Guy do some push ups so they know exactly what they’re supposed to do. He will do like 20 push ups in 30 seconds and act like he isn’t winded.
Also, he’s always watching himself in the mirror. I know they watch themselves sometimes just to make sure their form is right, but he’ll just be walking from one side of the room to the other and he can’t take his eyes off of himself.
So, anyway, I tell Babafa that the Guy is a show off and Babafa says, “Yeah, but he’s really good so he can get away with it and, you have to admit, he has kind of earned it.” He is a third degree black belt, by the way.
It’s true that he’s really good and super advanced, but STILL. So I tell Babafa that and continue that “he would be a much better person if he were super advanced and NOT super conceited about it.”
Babafa retorts, “Well, he’s only like 14, and that’s just how 14 year olds are when they’re good at something.”
Sure, Babafa’s right about fourteen year olds getting cocky when they’re good at something and that’s forgivable, but I add, “There’s no way he’s 14. He’s 18, at least.”
For one, this guy is very coordinated, focused, and confident. Not like most fourteen year olds. Also, he’s stalky and fairly tall for eighteen, much less fourteen. Lastly, it seems like he has lived a little. Like he’s on the verge of adulthood. Not on the verge of puberty. (Ewe, I hate that word.)
So this past Wednesday, before class, I tell Ducky, “You need to ask that Guy how old he is.” He says “Why?”, of course, because he’s in that stupid Why Stage. And I say, “I need to see if Dad’s right about his age.”
I’ve learned that it’s easiest to just be honest with the kid. Sometimes this backfires, but today it was an innocent enough reason to part with anyway.
As my luck would have it, that Guy walks into the room we’re in. So Ducky turns to him and says, “My mom wants to know how old you are.”
Shock and utter disbelief consume me as I stare at a spec of dust somewhere between me and the Guy’s forehead and I hear my heart bang out of my chest and feel the blood in my head peak at a rolling boil.
The Guy looks at me and says, “I’m 14.”
I don’t even care how old he is now. I just care that everybody in the room heard my son ask a fourteen year old child if he is a suitable lover for me. I hear my heart bang out of my chest and feel the blood in my head peak at a rolling boil for what seems like ten more minutes.
“See, Ducky? I TOLD your dad he’s not 18.” I give a sheepish nod at the pubescent fourteen year old child and guide myself out of the shackles of any suspected child molestation charges that may have entered the brains in the room.