Our Kids Are Growing Up: Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

 

My son's friend, the boy he's been closest with since pre-school, is here for a sleepover.  We haven't seen much of him this summer.  He's been off at camp, taking tennis lessons, and visiting relatives on the East Coast, while my son's been watching tv, playing Wii, and eating everything in my pantry.

This boy is incredibly smart.  Way ahead of my son.  Way ahead of most kids his age.  But as far as maturity, he has always been true to his nine years. 

Since they were three, he and my son have enjoyed bouncing off my walls, eating all my food, and torturing my older daughter (the longstanding object of this boy's affection). 

My daughter had her own thoughts about him over the years but hers were easily reduced to one word:  pest.

But tonight was different.  A tectonic shift in the natural order of things.

The boy came into my house dressed in board shorts, ready to swim.  Bare chested, tanned, I noticed that he was...built.  Muscular.  Broad.  Thinking it was an illusion, I looked at my son standing next to him.  By comparison, my boy was pale, boyish, scrawny. 

Uncomfortable, I turned away and let my thoughts drift to other, more innocent things, like dark chocolate and Twitter.

But just when I thought it was safe, when the kids were screaming and squirting each other with water guns, I heard my daughter yell out to the boy, "Wow (his name), you're buff!"

The look on the boy's face was priceless, and, as a mother, all too frightening.  The object of his crush, rather than tossing him out of her room, was tossing him a compliment.   He was proud.  Pleased.  His chest pushed out a fraction of an inch further.

"What does everyone want for dinner?," I interjected.  I'd seen enough of the future for one day.

*photo courtesy of google images