Not Lost in Translation

My boys aren't like the other kids.

I recognize this fact and quite often, I embrace it.

When the 'other kids' are taunting others, I am proud mine aren't involved. When the little girls are being catty, I am saying a little prayer that God gave me boys. When mine are spouting Beastie Boys lyrics and the other kids are looking on in complete confusion, I am beyond encouraged that I am raising boys that don't fit into the same mold as some of the 'other kids'.

No, I do not think they are perfect. We have our share of 'you shouldn't have punched Jack in the junk' sorts of discussions; there have been times when I have had to physically hold them back from a fight; I will admit to saying on morethanoneoccassion, "We do not hit girls. Even if they have it coming." But ultimately, I know their hearts better than anything else.

Today, I was down-right proud of them and the strong boys they are becoming.

After school, I was sitting on my neighbor's porch when two kids rode up. They asked my neighbor if her kids could come and play, to which she responded no, they had chores to finish. My boys, who were standing rightthere, were not asked. They weren't even acknowledged.

I will admit, that for a split second, my feeling hurt for them. (I only carry one with me, you know. It is safer that way.)

Before I could say anything to comfort my boys, Bonus yells, "ADIOS!" and waved as they rode off.

My neighbor looked at me and said, "That was Davis-Spanish for 'eff off', wasn't it?"


"Yes, I believe it was. And good for them."