Sooooo... what happened? Morphsuit update

Sam, Angus, Dandelion: A study in the absurd.

The day Sam wore his morphsuit to school, I worried.

And worried.

At 4 o'clock his bus rumbled to a stop and my son stepped off. He was still wearing his red morphsuit so I couldn't see the expression on his face, but at least he still had it on. I had fully expected he would change into regular clothes the minute kids started picking on him.

He looked both ways then hop-skipped across the highway, knapsack swinging carelessly from one red hand, sneakers almost dancing up the driveway.

I didn't even get the chance to ask what happened. He stopped mid-driveway and threw his arm up in the air, hand poised for a long-distance high-five. 

"I got R-E-S-P-E-C-T," he said with 12-year-old swagger. Then he swivelled his red hips in some kind of weird victory twist and bounced up onto the deck where I sat waiting for him.

"I gather your day went well?" I asked. "Nobody teased you? The teacher didn't make you take it off?"

Sam admitted he was told to take the hood off during class and when he was walking down the halls, but other than that he had it on all day. Apparently he was the coolest kid in school. Absolutely everybody wanted to know where they could buy morphsuits. 

Little kids chased him around at recess, asking who he was. He chased them back, staggering around the schoolyard like a big red zombie. "Who did you say you were?" I asked.

"Jesus," he said. 

When I stop laughing, me and Sam are going to have to have a talk.

The Man in Red

He's so brave. Twelve years old, standing at the side of the busy highway, waiting for his school bus. Red from head to toes.

Sam looks like an alien. A martian who wears headphones, sneakers and a backpack. Underneath the typical schoolyard paraphernalia he's wearing a red Morphsuit. Don't worry if you've never heard of Morphsuits. I hadn't heard of them either until Sam began saying his young life would be meaningless without one.

"What do you do with a Morphsuit?" I asked.

"You run around and stuff," Sam replied. "Oh I HAVE to have one. HAVE to. Puhleeese???"

You can imagine the drama. But can you imagine the suit? Picture yourself wearing pantyhose over your head and you get the idea. It's a one-piece, flimsy, body-hugging suit that I wouldn't wear for all the tea in China. I said to my kids yesterday that, if I had a white one, I'd look like the Michelin Man.

On Sam it's not so bad. He's skinny as a rake and the suit does show off his cute little rear end. And frankly I don't care if he wears it around home all day long but he insisted on wearing it to school today. I told him it wasn't a good idea. Kids would tease him. The teacher might give him grief. I mean, you know school these days – it's hard enough surviving the chalkboard jungle  without wearing a skintight red suit.

I gave him all the pros and cons (mostly cons) but let him make his own decision.

So there he stands, waiting for the bus. He's excited, I can tell, bouncing up on his toes, neon red head turned towards the hill over which the school bus will come. He hears the bus coming, turns out and waves a red hand at me and yells, "Love you!"

"Love you, too!" I say. "Have fun!"

He nods. The bus slows to a rumbly stop. The safety arm comes out, Sam's red head looks both ways and he crosses the road.

It's an hour later I can't help wonder how his day is going. Are the kids laughing with him or at him? Is he still wearing the suit? I made him pack other clothes just in case.

I have a lot of things to do today and I should get doing them. Instead, I sip on my cold coffee and think about my favourite martian. My brave little alien. My man in red.