To Choose, Wisely, a Friend

Cade's Friend Holding Clementine, + Cade. August 2010.



I am so happy to say, whole-heartedly: I love Cade's friends, and I love having them over.  They are wonderful boys: Boy Scouts, all of them, who brush their teeth and pick up toys when asked, look parents in the eyes, and treat baby sisters with kindness and patience.

The curly-headed friend sitting beside me on the couch right now--watching Problem Child with Cade and Jim--is to Clementine who Chip the butcher's son was to me when I was two, which is to say: Clementine loves this boy and talks about him very often. 

We took Jim's pickup to the Troop car wash, today, and Clementine called her brother's name twice before gasping and calling--twice as loudly--the curly-headed boy's name.

And he really is very sweet; when I beat the boys in Harry Potter Clue awhile ago, he remarked, "Wow.  You're good at Clue.  My mom is, too.  Moms are good at everything." 

He's also very funny.  Earlier, he asked, "Did Jim burn the popcorn?"

"Oh no," I answered.  "Jim never burns the popcorn."

"That's good," he said.  "My grandma always burns the popcorn.  It looks ok on the outside, but it's black on the inside.  She always says [and this part he spoke in his best, Southern accent], 'I just don't understand it.  I hit the popcorn button!'"  And he shook his curly head and laughed.

Riding down the road, today, Cade's friend asked me, "What do you like better: Doritos or popcorn?"

"Oh," I answered, "It depends on my mood.  Now if you had asked me about Cheetos, I would've picked them as my favorite."

"See, I don't like the cheese getting on my fingers," he said, with sincerity.

"Ooh," I joked, "Maybe you're developing a form of OCD, where, like, dirt freaks you out."

He responded, "No, dirt doesn't freak me out at all.  Just cheese."

And tonight, as Jim helped the boys choose a movie, we held a conversation about ratings.  Cade's friend said, "I watch PG-13, sometimes.  I watched Transformers.  But I don't think it was completely appropriate."

So hooray for boys who bless parents and baby sisters when they come to our house: boys with kind hearts who make everyone happier for their presence.  Hooray for parents who raise boys and send them out into the world, as blessings.  And hooray for my son (a follower) in his choosing, wisely, his friends, which is the answer to one of my most fervent prayers on his behalf.