by Cersei Morrow

Created on: March 11, 2007   Last Updated: April 25, 2007

The other day I received a call about my son "Thomas got in a fight. I thought you should know. He's at the school laying by the bike racks, and he hasn't moved in a while" "WHAT?!" "Yeah, he got into a fight with this kid, but don't tell him I called, okay? I don't want him to know it was me who called, so don't mention my name." The caller, who shall remain nameless, was a friend of Thomas', they haven't been getting along lately. I assume that is the reason for the request of anonymity.

I had been on call for my OB nursing job the night before. Usually when I'm on call, I can't sleep. I keep waiting for the call stating some woman is crowning, or having a placental abruption, or something requiring me to be 20 minutes away in 5 minutes. So when I get the call about Thomas, I had been dozing off and on, and am still in sleep clothes, hair a mess, etc. My husband, Jerry, had to work that night, and was sleeping himself, hears me yelling into the phone, and comes out of the bedroom to find out what the hoopla is all about. I tell him Thomas has been in a fight. My five year old son gets all excited yelling "Thomas was in a fight?! Was it a cage match?!" The eight year old is yelling "Who did he fight? Who did he fight?" Jerry, in a sleep induced stupor, is asking "What is going on?"
So I fly out the door, very worried that I was told Thomas hadn't moved in a while. When I arrive at the school I see Thomas, whole and moving, his friend Levi, and the Principal standing outside. It is at this point I realize I'm not wearing a bra. I have skanky hair. I'm wearing Jerry's old Abercrombie T-shirt, and a pair of leggings with skulls and crossbones all over them. My face hadn't seen makeup for days. At least my shoes were cute.
Thomas has blood smeared across his face, a large wad of cotton stuck up his nose, a swollen right eye, and looks completely dejected. I really want to ask if he won, or least got some good shots in, but this is probably not the best time. So I'm shaking hands with the principal, who I imagine was waiting for me to open my mouth and say "Hi thar! Ima heer ta git Thomas! We herd he wus a fightin!" Instead I put on my best "Let's pretend I'm not only dressed, but also wearing a bra" look, and introduce myself.
After finding that the fight had taken place off of school grounds (Thank God, that would have been a whole other can of worms), we load up Thomas' bike, and head home. This is our conversation:

Me: "So what happened?"

Thomas: "Nothing."

Me: "Thomas!"

Thomas:

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