Boys

My son began life pretty small. You wouldn't know that by looking at him now. When he was in seventh grade he slept every moment he could, and those were the only moments he wasn't eating. By the time he started eighth grade he was basically a grown man.

Because he looks like a conquering Viking, he gets recruited for any and all sports. He does them all, and he is pretty good. That is why it surprised me when he told me, "You know something? I really hate sports." This was a complete surprise to me since he had never said anything like that before.

"You do?" I asked.
"Yeah. I hate wearing all the gear. It is hot and itchy," he explained.
"That makes sense." He has always hated sweating.
"And I really don't enjoy sports in general."
"Well, then, I suppose you don't want to play football next year, huh?"
"Oh yeah. I totally want to play."
"You do?"
"Of course I do."
"But you just said you hate it."
"Yeah, but I still want to play."

My husband sat next to him nodding at me like this all made perfect sense. I might never understand the male race.