Knockout

My baby is growing up!

The other day my son left school as usual. A girl in his class was running on the other side of the street, but couldn’t keep her eyes off my son. She ran smack dab into an electric post, knocking herself out. She was taken to the Cruz Roja (Red Cross) to be checked out.

Girls in the upper-class hover near my son during the lunch break. He’s busy minding his own business or horsing around with friends when the girls start with their “pst, pst” so that he looks in their direction.  This seems a bit rude in my opinion–sort of the equivalent of construction worker catcalls, but hey, maybe their mothers didn’t teach them any better.

The boys in my son’s class call him “Steroids” because of the muscles in his biceps. He doesn’t actually take steroids (as if I have to clarify that) but daily living in La Yacata makes sure he’s not a floppy string bean–which apparently is so much out of the norm these days that both boys and girls in his class (and in other grades) have noticed as you can see.

Here are some of  his daily exercises:

Pumping iron

The garafon lunge
Bucket Stairmaster
Goat sprinting
Hay bale lifts

and a little parkour thrown in just for fun

And every now and then, an hour of moto pushing from Moroleon to La Yacata when the moto is descompuesta (broke down)

It’s no wonder my son has become quite the ladykiller. By the way, the girl that knocked herself out was just fine. She recovered enough to go to the movies with the class and snagged the seat next to my son, goose egg on her forehead and all.

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