You know how when you’re expecting your first child, you mentally list all things that you and your child will never do?
For example, here are a few. In no particular order:
- No television until they are 2 years old.
- They will never eat in the car.
- A Happy Meal will not be a dining option.
- Homeschooling is for weirdos.
- Yelling is not to be tolerated.
And then when they are, say, 10 months old, you realize that you’ve broken every single parental promise you ever made to yourself?
I swore many years ago that I would never ever buy weaponry for my children. I have a deep and abiding fear of guns. I’m not anti-gun, mind you. I believe strongly in the right to bear them. But when I was but a child, I nearly had my head blown off by a friend of my parents who was demonstrating his new hunting rifle while we were out in the country at our farm.
I felt the bullet whiz over the part in my hair, and turned to see a significant hole in the wall behind me.
It left an impression.
I’ve had friends with similar views, who later confided to me that after a strong anti-gun stance, they threw up their hands when one morning their son fashioned a gun out of a piece of toast and shot his sister at the breakfast table.
I’ve been lucky, I suppose. Jensen has leaned more toward the arts than to all the usual boy-centric interests. Well, of course with the exception of his fascination with plumbing. And dogs.
Recently we were invited to a birthday party for two of Jensen’s very best buddies. These are boy’s boys. Testosterone in abundance. And they wanted to have an air soft party which is a party that involves guns and shooting tiny pellets at other party guests. The host, a dear friend of mine, knowing that we are of the paranoid ilk, also brought along crafts and various wheeled bikes and scooters for the children of gun-phobic parents.
Jensen showed absolutely no interest in the whole gun aspect of the party, and was looking forward to just seeing his buddies and being within close proximity of E (his beloved) who now delights in ignoring Jensen’s attentions. And btw, he is not in the least bit dissuaded.
I assured Fiddledaddy that I would have everything well in hand, and that he need not worry, our boy would not want anything to do with shooting his friends.
At some point during the party I was chatting with my girlfriends, and turned around and caught sight of this:
That’s my son, in the middle. Holding his gun high in the air. This will be the cover of Homeschool Monthly.
A few moments later, Fiddledaddy called. “I was just feeling a little paranoid, and wanted to check to see how everything is going.”
I think we’ve turned a corner.
And I’m just along for the ride.
Have a fantastic weekend, my friends!