Back in my day, there was one kid in every neighborhood missing a limb. Usually it was some dumb ass kid f*cking around on the train tracks that rolled through our town. There was the occasional chipped tooth kid, victim of an errant baseball and an epileptic or two hittin' the deck in gym class. Broken arms from dropping 13' from a tree branch was a frequent occurrence, as was road pizza from spilling on our bikes.
If there's one thing I don't remember about my generation are all the wussy-ass allergies that are ubiquitous these days. I know. I know... I should thank the heavens I have two healthy allergy-free kids.
Anyway, the snack list on the O-Dog's soccer team kindly requested that we pick snacks that take into consideration some of the players' allergies. I know for a fact that one of the O-Dog's buddies is allergic to chocolate. Peanuts, for some goddamned reason, are a pretty common one too. I walked up and down the aisles, ruling out granola, M & M's and anything dairy.
Bingo. Those 'fruit snacks' seem pretty harmless. A couple of ten packs of juice boxes will do, too.
I cart the O-Dog and the Fletchmonster to the soccer field and watch the O-Dog run around aimlessly for an hour... Game ends and it's time to dole out the snacks.
Little Girl: Um... Excuse me. What's in these?
Prego: Fruit, honey. They're fruit snacks.
Little Girl: But what kind? I'm allergic to strawberries.
Prego: (Jesus, kid. What the f*ckscicles?) Uh, go ask your mommy if those are okay. Here. Take a juice box, too.
Little Girl: Thank you.
Just then, a grizzled, one armed 5 year old with one eye, stictches across his cheek and chipped baby teeth approached me...
Prego: Here, kid. Take the whole f*cking bag.
He scratched his hair, pounded on his chest and grunted "Thanks."
Now that's my kind of kid.