Spray Paint! That'll Fix It! Yeah!

Every few months, Weston comes to us and asks for new shoes. Not because his feet are growing so fast (which they are, but not THAT fast) but because the last pair of shoes we have bought him are destroyed. Skateboarding is hard on shoes. At the beginning of summer we bought him some expensive Nikes (I was going to call them Nike shoes but it came of sounding unbelievably stuffy) that are designed to withstand the rigors of multiple attempts at landing kick flips, backside nollies, and pop shove-its. He wore them on and off throughout the summer but once school started, he couldn't wear them because they have blue (Gang Color!!!) on them. Plus, he couldn't land any of his tricks in them and claims to have outgrown them. Blame it on the equipment.

With school about to start, Steve's parents kindly offered to take the boys out shopping for new shoes, clothes, and backpacks. After trying on about 6 different styles, Weston finally found a pair that met his stringent style requirements and that the store still had in his enormous size 10s. A scant five weeks in to the school year, and these shoes are already in sorry shape. The right front side of the right shoe has been worn down to the fabric by the grip tape on Weston's skateboard. That's OK though. I'm glad he's getting the exercise, not playing video games, and working on getting better at something that he feels passionate about. What bugs me though is that The Punk took his shoes yesterday (why they were off his feet I have yet to determine) and spray painted them purple and gold. I've not seen the shoes, and never heard about the spray painting until 8:38 this morning when a shoeless Weston was scuttling out the door to leave for school, quickly explaining that he had fixed the whole thing by spray painting the shoes gray at his friend's house across the street. He was headed there this morning because his friend's mother drives him to school each day.

I am willing to bet a goodly sum of money that Weston will be less than satisfied with the spray paint solution. Dollars to donuts, he comes to me within the next 24 hours announcing that he needs new shoes, pronto. When he does, I will offer him four choices: 1) Get The Punk or his parents to pay for your new shoes (if you chose this kid as your friend, it will come at certain costs to you). 2) Sure I will buy you new shoes..... from Target. 3) Keep wearing the spray painted ones. 4) Go out and do some babysitting, yard cleaning, any kind of work to earn the money to buy your own new shoes. Do you suppose that will fix him?

Punk vs. Parent

Doesn't being a parent suck sometimes? My son is outside skating by himself right now. Why? Because I'm being the tough parent and he's being the kid that listens to his parents. Here is how this situation came about.

Tuesday night he was outside skating with a group of friends. One of these kids is a punk whose parents have pushed away from the meal of parenting like they had a twelve-course helping and can't jam down another bite. At 14 he is not in school. Word on the street says he'll be sent to a boarding school sometime "before Halloween". Meanwhile he spends his waking hours totally unsupervised. While they were skating, the punk refused to move out of the street to make way for a car. When the driver opened her window and made a comment, f-bombs began to drop like rain. I should add here that Weston had JUST come in the house as this went down, so avoided the whole situation by literally seconds. Steve and I were in the kitchen getting dinner on the table and saw all of the action. When the swear words began to fly, the driver made a u-turn and gave chase to the kids, who had taken off running. At that point Steve ran out to intervene*.

Naturally, being caring parents, we had to explain to Weston that he could no longer hang out with the punk. We told him we were worried he would end up getting stabbed or shot by some wacko who didn't appreciate being mouthed off to (excuse my dangling preposition). He has been forbidden to skate anywhere but outside our house if this boy is around. The problem is this kid pretty much stalks Weston and his best friend and fellow skating buddy across the street. Weston's friend cannot always resist the allure of punkdome and sometimes, against his parents' wishes, takes off to skate with the punk, leaving my parent-abiding son alone, feeling like a sap for listening to his mom and making me look like an asshole for trying to be a responsible parent.

*I think I shall buy Steve a white horse**, because he does some serious rescuing when the need arises.

** Actually, I think he might prefer something more along the lines of a BMW. Note to self: Research whether heroing can be accomplished on motorcycle as well as horseback.