My most handsome of sons is in the 2nd grade. He’s the kid with the big blonde hair. Hockey hair. Surfer hair. I fight with my mom to not get a haircut so I don’t get a haircut often enough hair.
He also likes the chicken wings.
He’s a good man.
There’s a girl in the 2nd grade that he’s been talking about for awhile. We’ll call her “A” to protect her young innocence. A is the girl that just happened to be wearing his football sweatshirt when I visited at lunch. “She just likes to wear it, Mom!” he told me.
Second grade.
This morning, while sitting in the van waiting on the bus, we had the following conversation:
“A asked me if I wanted to go out.”
“What does it mean to go out in the second grade?”
“I don’t know”
“What do you like about “A”?”
“She likes me. (yeah, that’s a good start I say to myself) And let’s admit it, she’s beautiful. She’s a bit dramatic. (Long Pause. Wait for it…) Just like you!”
WELL I NEVER! Okay that one time I may have had a bit of flair, but drama? Puh-lease.
Crap! This kid is wise beyond his years.
