There’s nothing so joyous as the sound of kids’ laughter. My little kid has the naughtiest, dirtiest laugh, and I suspect it will get him in trouble. Some good trouble, because girls are gonna looooove it, and probably some trouble for reals because his teachers are not gonna looooove it. He’s 9, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got some time before this becomes a real concern. Like a week or so probably.
This morning I was sitting at our computer paying the bills. Behind me were the happy noises that come from boys beating the living crap out of one another. The laughter was making me giggle, which was much-needed; I hate paying the bills. Their laughter was making me giggle until it wasn’t. Little kid is a wall of muscle. Seriously. The kid is built like the proverbial brick house. He’s inherited his mother’s legs (which I hated until recently when my legs took me on a couple 5K runs–another post. . .). He’s nimble, he’s wily, he’s strong, he’s quick. He’s all the physical things the big kid isn’t.
Just because we know now doesn’t mean anything has changed between them. They’ve been brothers for nine years and have been pounding the snot out of one another for probably five or six years now. I don’t want that to stop (the normal brotherly camaraderie, that is). But here’s what happens after: your kid shrieks, “STOP IT!” while trying to keep laughing, and you hear a different tone in his voice. The “STOP IT” is in all capital letters, and the request sounds and feels more like a plea than it did before. The laughter isn’t genuine, it sounds and feels desperate. You resist every urge in your body to turn around and ask them to stop. You resist every urge to ask if he’s OK. Big kid goes down like a stone. He gets up, and he comes back for more a couple more times. Eventually the siren song of Super Mario Bros calls one of them away from this day’s wrestling match, and today’s main event stops as quickly as it began.
He gets up, and he comes back for more. I’m pretty sure there’s a metaphor in there.