He litters his bedroom floor with wet towels, sweaty undershirts, and nasty socks.
He seems incapable of turning off lights or fans.
He cannot put dead batteries in the trash to save his life.
He usually needs a haircut and a shave.
His drumming skills vastly supersede his vocal skills, as he belts out 70s rock and roll and plays his own bedside percussion.
He enjoys naps during Big Church and English.
He displayed more Bs and Cs than As on his report cards and couldn’t care less.
~
HIM TO ME (when he saw the pink ink pen with the pink ribbon at the store during the month of October): Mama, will you buy this? It’s pink, for breast cancer. We support breast cancer!!
~
His 1st grade teacher told me, “I have moved him all over this room. There is no one he won’t talk to.”
His 2nd grade teacher repeatedly reminded him to do his seat work. She exasperatedly enunciated, “What are you waiting for?!?!” He answered honestly, “Recess.”
His 3rd grade teacher’s eyes welled with tears when I suggested he try 3rd grade a second time.
~
ME: What have I always taught you about discussing a girl’s weight?!
HIM: Never call a woman fat to her face.
ME: That’s not exactly right, but it’ll do for now.
~
He learned to say ball, dog, and daddy, then refused to try new words for months, as if he had mastered all the language he needed.
His eyes popped open on field trip mornings, liked he’d never slept at all.
He donned one of my old bridesmaid’s dresses for church youth group on a dare.
He dissects the fine art of blowing up cars in killing movies with his daddy, defends his choice of favorite Disney princess with his sisters, and dances to “Shipoopi” from Music Man with his mama.
He loans his strong arms and sturdy back to folks in need of someone to do heavy lifting.
He fuels his lean, muscular body with Peter Pan peanut butter, Pop Tarts, and Dr. Pepper.
He ponders life questions like: “Is still continues redundant?”
He promises, “I’ll be careful. I’ll say my prayers. I’ll drink my milk.”
~
HIM TO ME: If you don’t do it, you’re going to regret it 50 years from now—uh wait, I mean—10 years from now.
~
He tucks in his shirt and ties his tie occasionally, and he cleans up real nice.
His guidance counselor suggested carpentry for his junior year, and he discovered his inherited love of woodworking, passed through me from my daddy, whom he was named for but never met.
He loves his sisters and lets us hug and kiss him in public and often tells all three of us, “You look pretty today.”
He provides most of the fetching and provokes the majority of the laughter in our house.
He cried his last boyhood tears the night his friend died.
He was hard to feed but easy to wake and a joy to raise.
He’s my favorite son.
He’s my baby boy.
He’s a good man.
