Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is our contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, the only requirement is to present a story in six (and only) six sentences.

This week’s prompt word:

GUARD

“Would it be too much to hope for our son learning to be more on guard; a kid like him, head in the clouds all the time, is asking the other sixth graders to lash out, it’s what we did at that age,” the man seemed to address the otherwise empty kitchen, even as his wife placed the tea cup and saucer at the upper right corner of the evening newspaper opened on the kitchen table; his smile of thanks faltered as he rotated the handle on the steaming cup to precisely three o’clock and adjusted the teaspoon on the saucer.

The tall woman compressed her lips, a tacit expression of agreement, however, her husband had already turned his attention to the black-and-white newsprint, sparing him the blaze of protective fury in his wife’s eyes; folding the front page carefully to the left, the man continued,  “You’re his mother, and for reasons beyond me, there are times when he’ll listen to you, go have a talk and tell him to apologize to whoever and, while he’s at it, grow a thicker skin.”

The boy, sitting with his back against the plain headboard of the single bed, the tensor lamp, chrome-articulated neck leaning over his shoulder like a concert pianist’s page-turner, looked up from the circle of light illuminating the pages of the book, his eyes held both questions and answers as his mother stepped into the room, tension diminishing ever-so-slightly as she shut the door;

“You’re here to tell me to not let them get to me, that I just need to grow up,” no longer focused on whatever he was reading, the boy’s attention flared like a kitchen match in an empty basement.

“Well, yes, but this is one of those life lessons that need to be memorized like passages from a favorite book; what you felt in class today, when that boy, William, said your book report was pretentious is part of a strength rather than the weakness you’re thinking it is right now; like it or not, it will take time to practice being you.”

“Thanks a lot, Mom, so all I have to do is hurry-up and run into doors, sit on tacks, have ‘Kick Me’ signs taped to my back in school and I’ll get to become the best person I can be?”

“Well, yes, …but at least you won’t have to become your father,” the walls of the bedroom seemed to bulge inwards for a split second, until both mother and son broke into gales of silent laughter.

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