Earlier in our relationship, whenever I did or said something foolish, silly, or somewhat embarrassing (which was quite often), Karen’s stock response, particularly when we were with a group friends, was, “Sorry, ladies, he’s taken,” or “That’s right, ladies, he’s taken.” Hysterical. Got me every time.
We had a somewhat relatable experience with Luke a few days ago, and not in a funny way. In a way that made us feel as though he was ‘that kid,’ the one making trouble – bad behavior that would cause other parents to say, “Get a load of that kid! Thank goodness he’s not ours.”
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think a day goes by that we’re not thankful for both of our children, overjoyed that they are ours. But they do have their moments.
One of Luke’s came at an outdoor concert a few days ago. Luke and Charlotte were dancing and running around one of the trees in the park. They were by two other kids who were about the same age. They were all having a blast.
That is until Luke bent down, grabbed either one or a handful of small stones, and hurled them at the other little boy, who was about four. Right in his face.
Sorry, moms and dads, he’s taken.
The little boy ran off crying to his grandfather and grandmother. Karen and I, aghast, both jumped up. Karen hurried over, grabbed Luke, and brought him to the victimized family to apologize and make sure the little boy was ok. They were very understanding.
(Apparently, there were no hard feelings at all because when the ice cream truck pulled up, they offered to buy Charlotte an ice cream after a relatively long period of her looking longingly at the truck and at the people walking away from it with their treats).
Anyway, when Karen brought Luke back to our spot on the lawn after his transgression, I asked him what happened. “I threw rocks at little boy.” Succinct and to the point.
Later in the evening, hoping he had realized the error of his stone-throwing ways, we let him loose on the world again, allowing him to venture back to the tree and the scene of the crime. They resumed their dancing around the tree with the other two little kids. I was surprised because the little boy didn’t seem wary of Luke at all. We were watching them like a hawk. But apparently, Karen and I must have both looked away briefly at the same time, because before we knew it, the little boy was down on the ground, in tears. Neither of us saw what happened, and Karen quickly pointed out it was my turn to follow-up.
The boy got up and ran to his grandfather in tears. Again. Great. I asked Luke what happened, and he said that the boy fell. Inconclusive. Throwing presumed innocence out the window, I asked Charlotte if Luke pushed the boy down. She responded that the boy fell down on his own. It crossed my mind that she might have been covering for her brother, but she is a pretty reliable source for the most part, even when she herself is the guilty party. Even so, I brought Luke back over to the family with the crying little boy, and asked, “Did my son do this?” They said no, and then made a joke about hearing from their attorney.
Not long after, we sheepishly packed up our stuff, embarrassed but thankful that at least it was just one incident. Walking away with our beloved little rock thrower, I couldn’t help but think it.
That’s right, moms and dads, he’s taken.
I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’
