What’s Wrong with Kids Today

I live two blocks away from a bunch of fields and sports-areas. Football, cheerleading, track, softball, baseball, soccer, hockey. There’s a designated field or area for each sport. It’s nice and all, in that it’s a kid-friendly neighborhood, but it’s also highly annoying.

A few weeks ago Holden and I decided to walk down and watch a baseball game. Holden loves baseball so I thought it’d be good for him. I was wrong.

The kids playing couldn’t have been older than ten. But balls were flying over the fence like crazy — I was slightly afraid for my child’s life.

One of them accidentally slid right into another one. The sliding one look frazzled and slightly embarrassed as he slowly regained his balance and stood up; the slid-into one turned fucking red and stormed off.

His parents just happened to be standing right in front of me. The mom went off to see if he was okay, and when she returned she proudly announced that her baby boy said “he’s lucky I didn’t fucking hit him!” Then they continued to talk about how awesome their kid was and how horrible the other one was, and how they kind of wanted to hit him themselves. All because the other kid accidentally slid into theirs. Acci-fucking-dentally.

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