This story would probably go a lot better if I knew the actual names of the children I’m referencing. I might know a couple of the names, although I have no idea how to spell them so I won’t even try. Thus, in honor of the NBA Finals which I can’t watch because all the games happen to start at 2 AM here, I will deem them Lebron James and Steph Curry. In the hospital, the moms tend to hang around their children though occasionally they just drop them off with us or the kids find us themselves. At the very least though, it’s not like we’re completely alone with the kids. Except today that is. Whenever we see Steph coming into the room because he’s always a wild little guy, a little guy that’s between 3-5 (which probably means I’m +-10 years off his actual age). He’s also typically chased by his mother who sometimes pulls off her shoe so she can slap him with it. And sure, I wasn’t one to be beat by a shoe growing up but even if I was, I think I’d be smart enough to know that kicking my mother repeatedly in the shins afterwards wouldn’t be doing myself any favors. Steph and Lebron know each other though, they were aware of each other, it’s hard to miss him with his inverted, lopsided arm that kinda swings inward probably due to a break and bad placement. He could ball, he could throw balls, he could do everything a normal boy could do. He was also probably ten or so, which again is probably way off because kids ages don’t make sense anymore. All that matters is a period of anarchy began without the mother’s to defend the homeland. Or to reel in their children. Because we can only do so much, we don’t have actual authority over the children and we’re there to play with them, not really discipline them. Which is more it’s just impossible to discipline kids when you can’t speak really speak to them. Unless you wanted to just start beating them up. I just think that might be a little uncouth to do inside a hospital for sick and needy children. The only point I’m trying to make is that we’re a fun crowd. How anyone would ever think I was trying to make that point based off what I’d just written is beyond me though. What I’m trying to get at is that we were an unsupervised mess, and the energy was high and frantic today. The testosterone was high as well. You could smell it. It smelled like high testerone things. Or by that I just mean there was only like one girl during all of this and seven boys and that’s a ratio that had never happened before. To cut the story short, an epic battle started to occur. An epic battle that ended up with me bleeding for the first time since my war with Justyn. I wouldn’t be able to deconstruct and describe the action sequences as much as I wanted, so suffice to say, it was two kids, Steph and Lebron, whose ages did not make a fight seem possible but it was indeed a bloodbath. Even if the only blood shed was my own. I’m just saying though, this was a battle that culminated with a four year old grabbing a rock that may as well have been a bolder to him from a planter and lift it over his head to chuck at the other kid and would have done specifically that if I didn’t swoop in to rip it out of his grasp. To summarize the whole ordeal actually was just Lebron would run away from Steph because he was bigger and faster than then sometimes come up to him and start kicking him while Steph punched him and then I’d grab Steph and pick him up into the air where he’d flail all around and then proceed to attack me once I sat him down. A couple of mother’s did emerge and all they happened to do was cast disgusted glances and try to protect their own children. Doctors and nurses also walked by and just snickered and didn’t proceed to intervene in anyway. I mean, it didn’t look super painful as a whole but it was a boy probably twice the age of the other kicking his little butt for a period of time. Even if we did break up the fights constantly, it never stopped little Steph from coming right back after Lebron again and again. It only truly ended once the mother’s came and took them both away and they were surprisingly calm in doing so. When the shoe beating would occur without much incident, no punishment seemed to be doled out for him grabbing a rock to smash another boy’s head with. It was entertaining though. Minus my possibly, probably, permanently scarred hand due to my valiant attempts to be a pacifist. No matter where I go, the battles seem to follow me. No foe is too small, that’s the lesson I’ve been taught and reminded again and again. So it goes.