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Soccer Bowl of Fruit

September 26th, 2016

Dear Todd,

While shuttling the kids from soccer, to hip hop, to lunch to fishing I couldn’t help catching the sounds from the back seat of the car. It was a male voice, which did not belong to anyone in our family, ranting about his decisions. I can’t tell you, how lucky I felt to have yet another voice, not one of our 5, blabbing about some sort of nonsense. Cuz really you can never have too many voices in your head.

It was coming from our eldest’s Kindle Fire.

Me: What are you watching?

A: A Bowl of Fruit talking about car soccer.

I was scared to ask again. I was afraid that I may have just had a stroke. Or he did. But, I had to ask. 

Me: What?

A: It’s A Bowl of Fruit talking about car soccer.

Just then a kid ran out in front of me on his bike and I hit the brakes, nonchalantly saving his life, causing me to feel even more frustrated with the world and the words coming out of our eldest’s mouth.

Me: Oh my God.You have to please stop saying that. You are making zero sense.

He laughs and continues to explain to his moron of a mom.

A: It’s this guy. His screen name is “ A Bowl of Fruit” and he’s playing this game that is like soccer, but it’s cars crashing into the ball instead of people.

I take a minute and breathe.

I can’t decide what has me more distressed. The fact that such a game exists, or that my son is one of the many supporting it, or that somebody is making more money than I am with the name, "A Bowl of Fruit."

I have to ask one more question.

Me: Is this like a demolition derby or a video game?

A: Here.

He says resigned from trying to explain this way too complicated concept to his mom, shoving his Kindle towards my shoulder which is unavailable—because shoulders have never had hands, and “OH WAIT I’M DRIVING A CAR!” another basic concept that may be getting lost on the maturing boy.

Me: Bud, you’re gonna have to wait, because I’m driving and can’t look at it right now.

A: Oh yea. Sorry. 

He says, retracting his arm “Go Go Gadget Style” back to the backseat.

As we turn into our suburban cul-de-sac labyrinth, low and behold, a soccer ball rolls out into the middle of the street.

To my left, a nervous kid waits anxiously on the curb to see if his ball lives or dies.

I smirk at my budding teen in the back, and start to accelerate…

Me: Hey! Let’s play!

A: No! Mom! It’s a video game! 

He shouts desperately—nervous that perhaps I am truly dangerous AND stupid.

Me: OOOOHHHHH. PHEW. 


P.S.
Happy Anniversary (emoji with tongue sticking out and one eye all crazy)



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