A terrible moment awaited him though. A bully--the size of Milwaukee--glared at my son. The Zombie stepped forward, timidly, but that bully didn't care. He pushed my son to the ground, then he grinned like an ogre.
The Zombie, that gem of a child, got back up and went to the top of the slide again. Ogre-boy waited at the bottom. I wondered what my son was thinking. Why in the world would he want to face the bully again?
The Zombie slid, going faster and faster until he landed on his feet at the bottom of the slide. A smile split the ogre's face like he'd met easy prey TWICE in one day. He neared my boy and pushed him down yet again. That's when the Zombie stood, moving closer and closer to the bully's face.
I worried. Would he punch the kid? Would he hit him so hard he'd turn into ogre soup?
Time slowed for everyone--EXCEPT THE BULLY'S MOTHER who seemed too busy painting her nails blood-red!
The two boys still faced each other. Then, with a sound so fierce it would've scared the Kraken, the Zombie growled at the bully.
The kid stepped back, actually terrified. He didn't bother my boy again. He did try to pick on Doctor Jones (my two-year-old girl), but the Zombie Elf was there in a flash and ogre-boy left her alone.
I was so proud of my zombie. I talked to him later. "You didn't push him back. I'm so proud of you," I said.
"I didn't want to hurt him," he replied, and I smiled the rest of the way home. That was a great way to handle the situation; I'll never forget my boy's spunk.