Precious Gift

This morning, Steve is competing in a Tough Mudder 13 mile obstacle course. Because it's cold (number 1 reason) and it costs $40/person to be a spectator (ridiculous), we are waiting for him to finish and then meeting the entire team at a traditional spot to celebrate Tough Mudder (evidently): Hooters. Awesome. This week has been filled enough with explanations and questions and fears regarding sexual topics. Penn State (and ESPN) have filled my boys' heads with images and concerns and sadness. My family has been consumed by this. The last thing I wanted was another talk about sex. But God had other plans, and I was pleasantly humbled by them.

Jacob (this is predictable) followed me into my room after mass and asked me about Hooters. I described in benign terms what it was like, and the description led to a discussion about Father Tom's homily (while I was trying to go to the bathroom, change my shirt and remove my hose :)). It was, appropriately, about the sanctity of women and marriage and the most precious gift we're given of being man and wife and co-creating life. Jacob loves that stuff. Seriously.

While talking about Hooters, I taught him the "die on a hill" concept. This was not, I explained to him, something I was willing to die over. I could have made the situation difficult for Daddy, created a division when really he wanted some excited support from his family. I guess getting muddy and running through electrical wires and into ice ponds and wading through waist-high mud is something to be celebrated? At any rate, I conceded that we would bring two cars and if Hooters was like Buffalo Wild Wings, I'd take the fat cheeseburger and greasy fries (moral support for Steve's high energy morning). If we thought it didn't feel quite right for the boys, I could politely exit with them.

Jacob then asked (good question) what would be different between Hooters and a place I would die on a hill for. Enter strip club topic. We talked about marriage and respect and love and dignity and protection. . . And for all my verbosity, he was like Occam's razor with his understanding. "Why would a man go to a place where women are treated as objects when he loves his wife (imagine confused, quizzical brows)? Why would they look at naked women and expect their (big emphasis and sarcastic expression) wife to not be naked with anyone but them?" And then he said (he was on a roll), "You know. A strip club is taking our most precious gift and treating it like trash. And people pay to do that? You know what they need to do, Mom? Get. A. Life." Well said, little grasshopper.

I'm going to make a Hummingbird Cake now. God was busy this morning with Jacob.

Excuse Me

Ok. I've had it with the "it's not rude, it's just different" mantra of people who don't have manners and live above, oh I don't know, Little Rock? It is rude.

My kids and I went to the Liberty Science Center today. This is why I like living in/near a big city. It's what I always told my mom I would do with my kids if I lived near museums--take my kids to them. So, I do. And we love them. All 952 exhibits and 2,345,624 kids that come along with them.

When you bump into someone, run them over with your stroller, knock a baby down or step in front of someone else who is reading about the water frog's habitat, you should say "Oh! Excuse me!" I'm not asking for the really nice "Oh, gosh, sweetheart. I am so sorry! Excuse me for bumping into your precious little shoes! Aren't those just the cutest little things ever! Here, can you see the water frog if I pick you up myself??" I am asking for manners. Have them. Share them. Teach them. Practice them.

I don't care if you think that other person you just rudely stepped on, squashed, bashed, bulldozed or bumped is a spiritual being living a human experience. I don't care if you even believe in a God. I don't care if you think that person is valuable or worth-while or ugly or wrong or dumb or silly or too little or too big to be in the 2-5 year old exhibit where you play with rice and paint with water. Excuse your body from interfering with another body.

Nick commented later in the afternoon when we were all tired and spent from being bulldozed by 3 year olds in groups of 500, "You know, Mom. I don't like little kids. And you know. . . their moms aren't much better." No lie. He said that. 13 year old boy. And he was right.

People tell me all the time what nice manners my kids have. They don't have exceptional behaviors--they're just decent young men who recognize there are other people in the world. They say "thank you" when someone holds the door for them. They teach Ellie to say "please" when she'd like her milk. Clearly, they think, she has confused whining and thrashing her little hands for the patient signing of "please." They know it's just nicer to smile and take a deep breath and ask for something than to demand it with an obnoxiously high decibel yelp. Nick and Jacob say "yes" and "no" (they add the ma'am when speaking to Mamalise or me). They don't say "yeah" or "huh??" or "what" or "nope." I know the time will come when they themselves get confused regarding manners and hormones, but I will be there to gently remind them. :)

I'm not expecting them to know which side of a lady to walk on (the left) or which fork to pick up when eating salad versus meat versus shrimp (depends on how the table is set). I am expecting them (and all other children while we're at it) to treat others with dignity and patience and deference. They're human beings, too, you know.

"Don't compromise yourself. You're all you've got." J. Joplin