I'd like to beat a child

Time to put the cards on the table. I have never abused a child. I have never struck a child. My son may
grow up one day with issues having to do with his father, but none of them shall ever involve my raising my
hand to him. We have, in fairness goofed around and things gotten out of hand, but each time out that ended
up at the bathroom cabinet seeking the mercy of mercurachrome of the soothing bactine and a band aid,
usually came along with at least one giggle while explaining what had actually happened. It's part of
playing hard. It's part of growing up as male. Females may encounter the same kind of experience, but
having grown up male, I can't speak to that.One way or another, you know the kind I'm talking about, I have never once raised my hand and struck my
child. I like to think I am raising the kind of a son with enough sense of self that he will one day, over
budweiser perhaps, admit that his behavior may have been worthy of it, but he'll admit that I never hit
him. Theyn, maybe we'll hug, or something Robert Bly like that.Now, that part aside, I have chosen as a subject today, how much I'd like to strike other kids. The loud
ones, the ones yelling in the nice restaurant, the ones yeslling without supervision at the movie theater,
the ones dressing like members of the Beastie Boys although they haven't passed the third grade, the ones
who have talked out of like to a check out girl and not been struck down, reprimanded, dirty looked, forced
to apologize or otherwise make amends for being a punk.
A child is a work of art you mold when he first comes out of the shoot, they wipe him off and hand him to you. He's your responsibility. He's got some of your DNA which is part of the equation. I'm a bigger beliefer in nature than nurter. Raising a kid is a verb. It's work, but, done well, it shouldn't seem like a job.
So this weekend when it came to my attention, that Robbie, who gets along with everyone I've seen him talk to, is telling me that a couple of incubi told him they don't like him because he's annoying. Which is a word I don't remember using when I was a kid. But it was ebough to make me want to clothesline the little kid.There you have it. I am a good father to my kids, But I have a recurring desire to beat on other kids. Fortunately, I've seen Robbie pushed by other kids, he's pushed back. I even had a report from the afterschool teacher that he had to have a talking to and a time out with the other kid about keeping their hands to themselves. I got the Paul Harvey rest of the story from Robbie later. His proud father bought him a happy meal on the way home. He'd earned it. He didn't provoke the problem, but he pushed back and ended it.Didn't matter. I still wanted to smack the kid. I've got my kid's back.