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It's something to be reckoned with. This Sunday afternoon ended up like many others and we had 3 teenage boys instead of one (we welcome them anytime). I hesitate to add one more, and yet something strange happened to Nicholas.
Mitchel and his two buddies are bantering away as we head into Costco from the parking lot. That's the place where normally my five year old grabs my hand out of ordinariness, so you can imagine my surprise as he pulls his hand out of mine before it even hits skin. If I wasn't so preoccupied trying to figure out if I somehow stabbed him with my palm, I would have come to the blaring conclusion a bit sooner than the 15 seconds it took me. Maybe even faster than his hand jolted back to his hip, he had caught up with the boys. He fit in perfectly: he had that teenage pimp to his walk, the cool suave speech, and the laugh that was neither too loud or too hidden. And even though his 3 1/2 foot stature was no contest to mix with the six footers, he never noticed. He sat with and ate as much as the big guys and he even got in on the conversations about the girls. (I think the five year old logic was the winner there!)
After dropping off our friends and heading to Toys N Us, as Nicholas calls it, we're again walking across the parking lot. Getting out of the car was routine: unbuckle, jump down, close the door and yes, reach up for Mom or Dad's hand-no thought and no sudden recanting to speak of.
Man, that testosterone is strong stuff. Lethal even! It added years to my little boy's life while simultaneously stealing a few from me. I'm so glad once again-and with no defacement rendered- he reverted to my little guy, because I'm pretty sure it's here to stay for the duration with my teenager. Go ahead and grow-up, Mitchel (if you must!), but let's let your little brother take his time.