The "boys will be boys" thing is interesting. Now that I am thrust into the role of father to 5 boys between ages 6 and 12 I have this ever raucous bunch of minor testosterone wielding beings who are something akin to a small herd of puppies. While at age 55, the more you "rough house" the tired-er you get, for this set the more they rough house the more energy they have...kind of like one of those little friction motored cars where you rub it on the floor to wind it up and -zoom...
A piece or reality hit the other day when my 19 year old left for boot camp. We took him to the airport, and the boys, whose interest in his future was limited to how many time he was actually going to get to shoot the gun, bemoaned on the ride home "who are we going to fight with now?"
Turns out its me.
I'm up to it. With some limits. In the spirit of "never let them see you sweat", I roll around and fling, push, twist, knock, and otherwise take it, always appearing to be invincible. At a time of my choosing, I find a reason to depart the area, find the aspirin, and hope the next round waits till I have recovered my fatherly invincibility.
My son returns in February.
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