Great Moments in Low Self-Esteem

(An ongoing series)

So I had to pick The Boy up from preschool yesterday because The Missus is sick.

I walked into the classroom and addressed The Boy, we hugged, and he went to get his jacket.

His tiny little teacher pulled me aside with a clipboard in her hand and a stern look on her face. I know that look; my hackles shot straight up.

She says, “Did you pick up The Boy yesterday?” And my mind immediately takes me straight to Defcon One. “What do you mean?” I stammered. “Is he bruised? Is he hurt?” I almost demanded, “What has he been telling you?!” but I’m glad I didn’t. I mean, I have never clobbered this kid, not even once. Hell, I’m not sure I’m still even strong enough to lift him if I wanted to.

Tiny teacher started to smile and waved the clipboard in my face. “The sign-in sheet,” she explained slowly. “Whoever picked your son up yesterday forgot to sign him out.”

…oh.

The rest, of course, is the usual blur of shame-faced embarrassment and self-deprecating one-liners. No matter how bad I feel, I can always find the energy to kick myself when I’m down.