My firstborn just turned 22 years old. I’m trying to figure out how that’s possible, seeing as how I’m just 28. Weird, huh?
Scott was our “party baby.” He was always happy and we could hand him to almost anybody and he’d smile and reach for them. He’s loved playing ball since he could say the word “ball,” so it’s no big surprise that all his favorite shows are on ESPN.
He’s got a mischievous streak a mile wide, and his sister was/is often his main target. One day when he was 7ish (she was 5), he was pestering her. Determined to make the teasing come to an end, I stopped what I was doing and knelt down on his level. I turned his shoulders toward me, looked him in the eye and said,
“ENOUGH. If you do that to her ONE MORE TIME, I’m going to spank you. Do you understand?”
“Ok, then. Repeat it back to me.”
“If I mess with Sarah again, I’m getting a spanking.”
“Alright. Go on and play.”
Within five minutes I heard Sarah shriek, “Leave me ALONE, Scott!”
I met him as he turned the corner, “SCOTT – I TOLD YOU that I’d spank you if you did that again. Do you REMEMBER THAT?”
“Then WHY DID YOU DO IT??”
“Because mom, sometimes it’s just worth it to hear her scream.”
You were a fun kid, Scott, and you’ve become a fine young man. You’ve made me very proud and I love you more than you can know.
And I’m thankful