About a Boy

Sometimes teenage boys do dumb things. Sometimes they're loud and obnoxious. Sometimes they make big messes and break stuff. Sometimes they're insensitive and clueless about feelings. Other times they are mature, in touch, obedient, sensitive, brave, clean, and reverent.

Bret went down to Sean's room the other day and saw a game that the boy had purchased laying on his bed. Sadly, the game had an "M" rating, and we don't allow those here. So when his brand new game system arrived in the mail yesterday (the one he has saved up all summer to buy), we had to break it to him that his only game was going to have to go back. The boy thought that the return period was probably past, and that he wouldn't be able to get full credit for it. Also, he didn't keep his receipt.

Why did he buy it in the first place? Seems he got all excited about the game and forgot about the rule. He got off the phone with his dad, who broke the news, and went dejectedly downstairs. Dad and I talked on the phone for a few minutes and felt so very sorry for the kid, but the lesson has to be learned, and we're the ones who have to teach it. Tough job, to be sure.

A few minutes later, the boy came quietly upstairs with the offending game in hand and said he was going to go return it. I felt so sorry for him that I offered to drive him (I rarely do this) to the store. He thanked me graciously for the ride, and didn't even sulk on the way there.

It all worked out just fine. The return period wasn't over, and they had the purchase on their computer, so they gave him full credit, and he bought an "E" rated game and seems to be enjoying it.

The only really unpleasant part was where I had to talk/listen to the gum-smacking, loud-talking, earring-wearing, eye-rolling, obnoxious salespeople who tried to get Sean to reserve/buy more trashy games and order porn magazines. All after he told them his parents wouldn't let him play M-rated games. If that store burns down one day, the police are going to come straight for me, because I'm not going to hide how I feel about those people from anyone.

These times are few and far between, but they are the times when you just want to wrap your arms around this 6'3" beanpole, give him a big, mushy kiss, and tell him what a good boy he is. Except he would sort of hate that. So you just think nice thoughts to yourself and make his favorite dessert. And you tell him thanks. Thanks for taking it so well, thanks for being respectful of your parents, and thanks for giving us a glimpse of the great man you're going to be someday . . . after you learn to stop being dumb, wild, and insensitive.