Sunday, June 27, 2010

T-minus 36.5 hours.

If nothing else... we are consistent.

Morning kiddies - yer old pal Scrub here. How are ya?

Ok - so the wife and me.... we have a Kid.

Darlin' beastie, he is.

The kid - he's 13 right now. Comin' up to 14.

And, the Kid... is just closing out his school year of Grade 8. Here in the Great White - we call this "middle school". Sometimes it's referred to as "transitional school".

In Scrubs corner of the country, all the kids leave their elementary schools at the end of Grade 6 and all truck on in to a centrally located building that is their "middle school".

It's the weird little hump of Grades 7 and 8 where all the kids are too old to be cute, too young to be useful, all of them are hitting puberty so their all goofy, clumsy and stupid.

It was, it seems, the best solution, to keep hoards of hormonally transitional morons contained for a couple of years while they get themselves somewhat sorted out.

Anyway... the point here is that the Kid is graduatin' 8th Grade. He's practically done. Tomorrow, Monday, is his official Grad ceremony. Tuesday, he and all the other hooligans are going off to one of Canada's great amusement parks. Then.... that's it. Done. Finito. Finished.

This has happened many times. Not the amusement park. (well - we have done that many times. not what I mean though). Referring to Graduating. Graduating has happened many times. Kindergarten to Grade 1. Grade 1 to Grade 2. Grade 2 to Grade 3. You get the idea.

Not every year has been filled with pomp and circumstance like this one.

This year - it's a fancy affair.

This year - we are all headin' off to one of Scrubs' local village gathering halls - rather fancy and big one - and there, the Kid will parade across a stage after hearin' his name called, to receive his diploma and then he'll be wished good luck as he moves to high school in September.

There'll be music. Food. Fancy furs and skins on everyone. Lots of photos being taken.

And this, boys and girls, brings me to the topic of the day.

See - For many years... well since Kindergarten.... The Wife and me have been snapping pics of the Kid.

That includes at this time of year when the lad is making his strides forward from one schoolin' grade to the next.

I wont bore you with all the pics. But, I'll describe a few of them.

The kid - handsome, cute, smiling, laceration across the chin.

The kid - handsome, cute, smiling, stitches below the eyebrow.

The kid - handsome, cute, smiling, black eye.

The kid - handsome, cute, smiling, fat lip.

Are you seeing a pattern here?

The Wife and me - we almost gave up.

Every grad pic - the Kid has an injury somewhere. Family/Childrens Services would have a hey-day with this mountain of evidence.

Yes - we almost gave up.


But, this year rolled along - and there was a glimmer of hope. We're but a mere 36 hours from graduation.

We're counting down the hours.

Then - it happened.

10:30 last night.

36. 5 hours from graduation.

It happened.

The Kid - busted up a digit.

And one of the good ones too.

Up to the hospital.


Pretty pictures of a bone with a crack in it.

Crazy-ass splint on the finger.

And, another picture of our son. Handsome, cute, smiling, busted finger.

Look out Grade 9. Here we come.

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