Ethan had his last t-ball game on Saturday, and I hauled the other two boys into the bleachers to watch. We settled in, and I felt Connor twitch against me. Then he twitched again and again, and I spotted a bee hovering near him.
Connor hates flying things, even harmless things like flies, but he's especially scared of bees even though he's never been stung by one- must be instinct. Anyway, I swatted the bee away but it came right back and then, IT WAS ON.
Connor flipped out. He twisted away, simultaneously starting to shriek while kicking out his legs and nailing some old lady in the back. She swung around as I was saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he's flipping out about this bee," and I tried to wrestle his legs down so we could stand up and get away. That was no easy feat as the kid was in full panic mode and flailing around while screaming his face off. I finally got him to stand up as the bee flew toward Brandon, so Brandon started screaming, too.
I quickly grabbed Brandon and herded him and Connor away from the bee, down the row of bleachers, but the bee followed us. Both of the boys were screaming now, so we were attracting the attention of every single person in the vicinity of the baseball field. I turned the other way, but the bee kept following us. It was like a demon bee, possessed, and would not stop until it got its clutches into Connor. It kept flying into his face and I'd pull him one way only to have the bee follow, then the other way, and the bee would still follow.
There were 24 other people in the bleachers (yes, I counted later) but this bee only wanted Connor. Back and forth we went down the row of the bleachers, ducking and swatting, both the boys screaming and flailing and tripping over the people who were surrounding us. The bee would not leave us alone.
I couldn't smash it with my bag like I wanted to because then I would have essentially been beating Connor in the face or head, probably causing him to get stung, not to mention having Child Protective Services pay us a visit later. I finally got smart and started leading them off of the bleachers, thinking that if we got to the field by the dugout, we could somehow escape the winged motherfucker. Or at the very least, stop spazzing out in the bleachers and give everyone's ears a break from the screaming.
We got to the end of the row and one of the dads somehow managed to swat the bee away. It flew off to go torture some other kid, and I hoped for the bee to die a painful death via blowtorch or perhaps, fittingly, torture by some sadistic sociopath of a kid.
What a fucking spectacle. We sat back down and it took several minutes to calm my sweating, shaking boys. They sagged against me like they just fought World War Bee (I'm sorry). Whenever a fly or some other insect came near them (within 25 feet), they tensed up and I could almost taste their post traumatic stress disorder.
Perhaps it was the shirt that attracted the bee.
After the game, Ethan, who had been 90 feet away in the outfield during WWB, asked Connor why we had been screaming and running around the bleachers. Connor simply said, "A bee was twying to get me."
Clearly, that kid did not get my flair for the dramatic, nor my need to tell a story whenever I can. He's a (mini) man of few words, just like his Daddy.
Perhaps it was the shirt that attracted the bee.
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| MOM? |
After the game, Ethan, who had been 90 feet away in the outfield during WWB, asked Connor why we had been screaming and running around the bleachers. Connor simply said, "A bee was twying to get me."
Clearly, that kid did not get my flair for the dramatic, nor my need to tell a story whenever I can. He's a (mini) man of few words, just like his Daddy.
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