Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

At the supermarket, we have a small issue. Luke wants to take his bike inside. I tell him that it’s best if we don’t. I imagine him flying down the cereal aisle as shoppers dodge and Luke proceeds to crash into display boxes, causing mayhem. I do my best to explain to him that you can’t take bikes inside the shop and that we need to lock it up outside. My explanation fails to impress. He isn’t a very happy boy.

‘But I can’t leave it here, I can’t. It’s my new bike,’ Luke says.

‘We won’t be long and you’ll be back with your new bike before you know it,’ I say.

‘But Daddy, I need to take it with me,’ Luke says. He is imploring me and thrusting his hands forward and he almost has me. I have trouble saying no to him. This time, however, I stand firm. I stick to my guns and refuse to budge. I know that I must and that it’s for the best.

‘I’m sorry, buddy, you can’t. They don’t allow bikes inside the supermarket. It’s a rule,’ I say.

‘I won’t ride it, I promise, please, Daddy. Please let me,’ he says.

‘I know you won’t, but it isn’t for long. Now come on, take my hand, and we’ll be quick, I promise,’ I say.

Luke won’t hold my hand. Instead, he crosses his arms and huffs at me. When I call him, he does follow me inside the supermarket, even if he is trailing a couple of feet behind me. We walk past the magazine racks and down the first aisle. I hold a couple of items up to him.

‘I don’t like that,’ he says.

When I ask him the same question again, he does the same thing. At the vegetable section, I make a beeline for the broccoli. I pick up a fresh floret and turn to Luke, grinning and hoping for a better result.

‘Now, I know that broccoli is your favourite,’ I say holding it out to Luke.

‘I don’t like it anymore,’ Luke says, and then he takes it from my outstretched hand, and he throws it across the store.

At first, I’m too stunned to react. It sails over the fruit and vegetable island and lands in a cold cabinet beyond. He has a good arm, and the broccoli really does travel. My jaw drops and there is a shriek from a surprised shopper. They were not apparently expecting flying broccoli.

‘Luke…’ is all I get out before he grabs another floret of broccoli and throws it. This time it sails over my head in a different direction. It strikes a pensioner on the back, and he lets out a yelp. People are stopping to stare. Luke is back at the broccoli, and he’s making another throw.

‘Luke! Stop that now. You can’t throw vegetables around,’ I say.

I sound wildly ineffective, like one of those useless parents I’ve previously seen. I have no inkling of what else to do. Maybe it is time to abandon this supermarket expedition.

‘Yes, I can,’ he says.

Luke shakes his head at me, pulls a face and throws. He is looking at me the whole time, waiting to see what I’ll do. I take a step towards him, and he steps back and grabs a cabbage. It is the size of a small football, and with both hands, he throws it at me. I catch it like I’m playing dodgeball. I give him a hard stare while holding the cabbage in both hands. I’m sure I appear faintly ridiculous.

‘Luke, that’s enough,’ I say.

I find that I’m raising my voice and that this is the first time that I’ve done this since Luke arrived. It has no impact at all. No, wait, that isn’t true, it does have some effect, although it’s on me and not on Luke. I’m sure that’s the wrong way round, at least I think it is, and then again maybe it isn’t? Perhaps it is only half working, and it should have an effect on both of us? Whatever the case, whatever the natural order of things is, I’m shocked and impotent. It only serves to remind me once more how new I am at this and how much I don’t know. I need Lauren or TSP, and I need them now.

I take a step towards Luke, and he moves away down the vegetable aisle. He picks up a cauliflower. I call his name and, again, he takes no notice. He throws it at me with everything he has. It misses me, and it bounces away like something out of The Dam Busters. It gives two little skips as it heads on its bruising journey through the store. People are transfixed by the display. Others do their best to ignore us and pretend nothing is happening and that vegetable wars have not broken out. They get on with their shopping as produce rolls around their feet. It is all very British.

‘Now stop it, Luke, come here,’ I say as firmly as I can without raising my voice for the second time.

‘No, I hate you,’ Luke says. ‘I hate you.’

‘Come here, now, and stop throwing vegetables,’ I say.

‘I won’t,’ he says, and he makes a grab for another cauliflower, and hurls it. I make a small dive for this one, and catch it like a goalkeeper in both hands.

‘Luke, stop,’ I say. ‘There’ll be no TV and no films if you don’t stop now.’

‘I don’t care,’ he says.

It is at this point I get an idea. All I need to do is make a dash for Luke, scoop him up under my arm and walk as calmly as I can out of the store. I can do that and call time on this disastrous trip to the shops. There might be some bawling, but at least we will be outside, and vegetables will be safe.

I must have subliminally transmitted my thoughts. Luke looks at me and it’s as if he knows