BOYS WILL BE BOYS

This is an adage I have heard from the day my first baby brother was born. It covers a multitude of sins…with no explanation. And it seems to offer the boys a pass, in terms of reactions or punishment, for all their infractions, be they large or small. And their existence as men is proof that this is evident. Otherwise, we would definitely be a society of women only, for all the males would have been buried alive in their teenage years.

That certainly holds true for my two sons, Bubba and Grits. I have often said that God gave me my girls….for he gave me those boys! It was the great balance of good versus evil in my life. My children’s teenage years were a part of my life that lives on and on in my memory. Because I decided in my perfectly ordered mind and ultimate wisdom that I wanted to have my children “close in age so that they could grow up together”, I had all four of my children in six years. That made for a busy early childhood era—back to back chicken pox, diapers beyond the imaginable, teething in unison, and sleepless nights for at least ten years.

But none of that “bliss” prepared me for the teenage years. I had four teenagers. They were all different and active. Brilliant and mischievous. Head strong and curious. There were no rules that went unquestioned. No barriers that went untested. My oldest child, Bubba, was the leader in my education into the minds of a teenager. He grew to be a wonderful, wise-cracking, whimsical and wild creature. My blond headed angel transformed into a Tasmanian devil – overnight.

My first realization that my life was no longer my own was when Bubba was a junior in high school. Mud Flap and I decided to go to a 7:00 p.m. movie. Mind you, the theater was merely three blocks from home. Because he was a junior in high school, followed by a ninth grader (Sweet Magnolia, my eldest daughter – and a perfect angel), an eighth grader (little Princess, my second daughter – a delight), and finally a sixth grader (Grits, a precocious son who idolized his brother), a baby sitter was out of the question. “We won’t be gone long” was my shout out to Bubba as we backed out of the driveway. “Take care of everyone” was the dying echo of my words as we hit the street.

By the time we had gotten to the corner, the first of several catering trucks had arrived. There was a line of twenty five cars waiting for the valet parking attendant to take their cars. The “Kegs for delivery” trucks were unloading the first of several kegs. Tables were set and the band was tuning up their guitars. There must be an underground system that is so efficient that they know when a house will be parentless in less than five minutes. Millions of teenagers are tapped onto this system.

Our car arrived at the theater about the time that our yard filled with 300 hundred writhing teens doing keg stands and shots! The party was on.

When the movie ended, approximately two hours from time of departure, we got into our car. As we drove the short distance home, there must have been a most amazing team of clean up artists that arrived, for by the time we got home, our yard was empty and save for the 50 cars parked around the neighborhood, we were blissfully unaware that we had had a party – and we hadn’t been invited!

With that kind of an education, I don’t wonder that when Grits became the magic age of 17, he too acquired the skill of “Party Planner” and perfected this art form! His parties were legendary. Even some of our neighbors would attend. Now of course, the details of this wonderful evening are somewhat enhanced in my memory, but the fact that a party can erupt in a matter of seconds is a fact beyond dispute! I might have glorified my account….maybe a touch!

I’m reminded of an occasion when Mud Flap was out of town on business and I had to go to visit my Little Princess in college. It was January 27th – her birthday. I had effectively taken care of Grits – he was to stay with a friend. There was soccer practice after school and dinner was at the friend’s home. He would sleep there and go to school in the morning. The evening was a Thursday. Not a weekend evening. I felt that I had covered all bases and left my home – alone and unprotected for 24 hours.

As luck would have it, there was a snow storm. It NEVER snowed in our town, but that day brought the storm. School was canceled and soccer practice was called. My friend told the boys that they could have dinner out and enjoy the evening. My house was unattended and now very available for every junior in high school in the entire city. A party happened.

Unfortunately, the house did not fare well at the hands of that group. Unbeknownst to Grits, I had booked several contractors to come on Friday morning to repair a door and cabinet in the house. When they arrived on Friday morning, they refused to come in as they thought that the house had been burglarized. They were about to leave when Grits drove up. After discovering the problem, he begged them to stay and do the job. In the meantime, he began to clean, and clean, and clean, the house. The trash was not only gathered but taken to the city dump to prevent me from seeing an overly full trash can. Because the workmen could not work as efficiently as planned because of the mess, Grits volunteered to cook for them if they would stay and finish. He raced to the store to buy only the finest steaks and potatoes. The grill was lit and a dinner of epic proportions was served on my best china to the ravenous contractors.

As they finished the job, Grits finished the last of the cleaning. The house was quiet. I pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later. All was well. And I would have gone to my grave with that wonderful knowledge that “Grits” minded me! Except for one thing….my neighbor had also enjoyed the party and came over to share his excitement with me!

One would think that the 30 day restriction that served as his punishment would have somewhat dampened his zeal for a party, but Party Planner Grits was not to be deterred. When he went to college, he perfected this talent and during one Christmas vacation wanted to share this new knowledge with all of his childhood friends.

“Mom, I want to go to the lake for New Year’s Eve. Could I have a few friends up there? It would be better to be there and safe than driving in town. I will only have a couple of guys. Anyway, I really haven’t kept up with anyone at home. So no worries about too big a gathering.”

After a few moments of consideration and a discussion with Mud Flap, we agreed. Because he was in college and obviously so much more mature. We talked ourselves into a blissful state of stupidity in which we gave this man-boy the most admirable of traits! My, how he has grown up. And he is so responsible!

The day came. Grits took his car and left with a wave and “I love you guys, Happy New Year!” We sighed with a smile on our faces. How lucky are we? Our last child and we are able to live our life – without worry.

We donned our finest as we were going to a formal debutante ball. Tuxedoed and formaled, we drove our way to an evening of champagne and dancing! The evening was wonderful until the first of about 200 people came up to me. “Thank you sooooo much for opening up your lake house so that Johnny (just change the name any number of times) could enjoy the evening in a safe environment!” In stunned silence, we nodded and smiled. “Oh my God, what has he done?” Mud Flap was not going to go quietly into the night. “Honey, maybe he just asked this Johnny and who knows if Johnny is actually going. He might be using Marshall as a cover!” (My ability to obviscate the truth was absolutely amazing) Mud Flap had had enough of the scotch to let me lull him into a sense of tranquility. As each advancing parent approached, I learned to ask Mud Flap to get me another drink!! “You are certainly enjoying yourself tonight” he quipped as he turned, yet again, to get me another drink. After throwing the twentieth glass of wine on the floor, I managed to get Mud Flap to dance with me. All further “thanks” were lost in the crowded room.

The next morning, I awoke and called the lake house. “Hullo” was the groan I heard on the other end of the phone. “Grits? Grits? Is that you?” “Mom? “He was suddenly alert! “Happy New Year honey! I thought that Dad and I would come up and bring you your good luck so that you wouldn’t have to come to town!” The silence at the other end of the phone was deafening. “Honey?” “Mom, I don’t think that is a good idea.” Then, Grits’ girl (we’ll call her Ratso) got on the phone. “Maam, we would love to have you come. Can you give me about 48 hours? I promise me you will be much happier then.”

Such was the last of the lake parties. All keys are now in my possession. We learned much after the fact that Mr. Party Planner had about 400 of his closest friends to the house. There were admission tickets and beer cost $1 a glass. Not only was this against our rules, it is illegal to sell beer without a license. But, no fear. The money he made on the party was used to hire a clean up crew and to cover some of the expenses of the repair to the house.

Boys will be boys…… And men???