I have one sister, but I grew up around boys in my neighborhood.

They were fascinating to me then, and now that I have two of my own, (and a husband) I still find them fascinating.

I love how they don’t mind getting a scar or dirty or ripping their clothes.  In fact, it’s a badge of honor.

I like how “hat-hair” isn’t devastating to them.

I like how they see the world–what’s right in front of them–instead of being distracted by what happened yesterday or  next week or who said what to whom.

I like discovering what their “treasures” are.  For one it’s baseball cards.  For another, sports statistics.  For another, skateboards.  For another, stock market trends.  For another Star Wars characters.  For another, chewing tobacco.  For another, rocks or shells or bugs.  Usually it doesn’t involve other people.  Even when/if they find a friend who shares their “treasure” it is not essential that they remind each other about it all the time.

I like how quiet boys can be.  And how loud.

In my pregnancy journal when I was expecting my first son, there was a quote:

“A boy is a noise with dirt on it.”

Sometimes I might feel the need to clean him off or quiet him down, but when I’m patient with him, my “boy” is my treasure.


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