Are you mystified by the kids in your house -- the ones who argue, threaten each other and, basically, drive you crazy? This is for you; it's called "Hope" or, "Don't Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth."
Seldom rendered speechless, I was silent while my son reported that he and his older brother had been on a business trip together, stayed in a hotel together, gone shopping at the mall together -- for clothes -- AND had a good time?
I was surprised they lived to tell it; thankful I lived to hear it!
My memory of their "togetherness" conjures up different visions.
It's said that the Lord sends us situations to keep us on our knees, and they did. But we kept our eyes open.
They shared a bed during many of their growing up years. The younger boy thought it to be the perfect stage to wiggle and sing. The older boy drew an imaginary line down the middle of the bed, threatening quick death with a toy gun if his little brother dared to move a toe over the line.
The gun was discovered one night as I leaned in for a kiss, slid my hand under the pillow and felt the cold barrel. Drawing it from the hiding place I asked, "What's this?"
My sweet little son answered, "I tell 'em I'm gonna shoot 'em if he don't stay on his side and be quiet." They were about 3 and 6.
We bought an alarm clock, setting it nightly at bedtime. One got to talk for five minutes, the other had to listen. When the alarm sounded, silence reined and sleep was the next order of business. A good solution, in theory.
Desperate, I hung a poem over their desk, ending with the words, "I'm glad you're my brother, I'm glad you're my friend," but never saw that it made much difference.
I suggested counseling but their dad, embarking on stories of crimes committed by he and his brothers against one another, assured me their brotherly behavior was normal. They all needed counseling.
The boys didn't exchange punches, as far as I know, likely due to two rules:
1. Don't bleed on the rug.
Our house was carpeted, including the kitchen.
2. If you're going to fight, take it to the alley; nobody wants to watch.
That usually put out the fire; who wants to fight without an audience? Besides, someone might get hurt.
Those two guys were so different I would have doubted their gene pool, except for my presence at all events that addressed such facts.
One pivoted, as his feet hit the floor in the morning, to make his bed. The other rolled out of bed when the bus honked.
One cooked breakfast. The other placed his order the night before.
One did his own laundry. The other wore it.
One moaned through middle school choir. The other sang in a beautiful bass voice, just for the joy of it.
One argued about obeying, but usually did as he was told. The other smiled in agreement, then did what he wanted.
One was a warrior, the other a free spirit. But they were both ours and we loved them, accepted their differences, made easier when they were sleeping.
I was convinced that once those boys left home, they wouldn't speak to each another again.
"You know, Mom," the younger one continued, interrupting my thinking, "he's my best friend. We can tell each other anything, and know the other understands it."
That's good, because I surely don't.
Betty Davis is a freelance writer in Abilene and regular columnist. She is a former Abilene public school board president.
OK.......In an attempt to catch up.........here is what has been going on!!
