I guess so long as he doesn’t come home with welts…
The Bandit came home from school and was angry because he was the last kid to be picked for Red Rover.
“What do you mean you were the last one picked?” I asked. This is one of my nightmares – trying to make my kids OK about not always fitting in.
“Last one, Mom.”
“You mean for teams or what?”
“No,” he said, as exasperated as ever with my constant questions. “The didn’t call me over until very last.”
I reviewed the rules of Red Rover that I remembered from elementary school. In case you’ve forgotten, there are two teams who line up across from each other on a field and link arms. They call names opposing team members one at a time by saying “Red Rover, Red Rover send Bandit on over.” Then Bandit has to run at the other team, looking for a weak link in the human chain. If he’s able to break through the linked hands, he gets to take a member of that team back to his own team. If he fails, the opposing team gets to keep him. the winning team ultimately absorbs the losing team.
Oh! I felt better. “That means they’re scared of you doing too well.” I get that look that informs me I have no idea what I’m talking about. “No really. They didn’t call you over because they knew you’d bust through and steal a person back.”
“OK, Mom, if you say so.”
I do do say so. I’m the Mom. I know this stuff.
Of course this conversation made me think of lots of weird games we played when we were kids. Dodge Ball is a particularly violent game when you think about it. I remember coming home with welts from those damn red rubber balls. Those boys were vicious. Now that I think of it, I wonder how many of those mean boys have gone to prison.