Boys Will Be Boys

My dad used to tell me stories of his boyhood growing up in Montana. Some of it was cute and funny and some of it scared the crap out of me once we found out I was going to give birth to a future monster male child.

One of those “cute” moments happened yesterday. I also think I found the reason why my dad keeps towels in his car. It’s not only to wipe off the sweat that pours out of you while sitting in an air conditioned car, in the middle of summer, in the middle of the state of Florida.

We got our little patch of garden tilled Tuesday night and went out shopping for veggies and fruits the next day. Three stores and three sweaty people later, we come to a store that has the misters and sprinklers on. I pulled out a wagon for RB to pull around and help daddy load up the plants.

He’s having a great time finding rocks to pinch and looking at all the new plants. It’s all at his eye level so I’m guessing it’s such a thrill for him! Pulling the wagon to the next isle over, he encounters the misters for the first time. Oh heaven! Pure, wonderful, cool heaven! RB’s always been a hot kid and I love him even more during winter, so his delightful squeals made me smile.

I walk back up my isle to cut over to the isle where he is and he’s gone. Mere seconds had gone by when I last saw him and now he’s disappeared. The plants aren’t even that big and I can’t see him at all. Normally I wouldn’t freak out so much. He’s independent but cautious and very aware of when he can’t see us anymore. But this time there’s machinery around and the only way to get to them immediately is if you’re little, like RB. He’s not answering my calls and is making zero noise himself. Then I have Chris call out for him.

The monster emerges from his lair. He is soaking wet. I mean, super soaked to the bone. He must have hit the main sprinkler area and just stood there.

He comes to us with his hands full of stuff. Stuff of I don’t even want to know what. Leaves, rocks, twigs, dirt, frogs, jellybeans, a million dollars — hands full. He throws it into the wagon he abandoned and off we go. It’s really time to leave!

What tickles me about this is a memory my dad had told me. He used to come home at the end of the day, pockets full of stuff. Whatever he came across at school or playing ball or at his parent’s grocery, he’d shove in his pockets. RB, with his hands full, reminded me of this and I started laughing. Some people have said that they see my dad in RB’s face. Could it be he got some of dad’s personality too? My mom always said about me, “Like father, like daughter”. What a hoot if the apple truly falls in succession. Dad is the most honest, ethical, forthwith person you’ll ever meet. If all else fails in RB’s adult life, I hope he’ll keep those values. So far so good!