The phone rings. My neighbor tells me, “My son just called, crying hysterically because your son punched him in the nose. My son thinks his nose is broken.”
“My son?” I say, with disbelief.
“Yes,” she says, “My husband is on the way home. Would you mind going over to check on him? When he called me, he could hardly talk.”
I rush my younger kids into the house, grab my keys and speed ten houses down the street to the kid’s house. I find the victim lying on his front step with a towel on his nose. A zip-loc bag full of ice cubes sits by his side. He shudders and cries a little. I examine his nose, which to my untrained eye appears to be unbroken. Thick blood rims both nostrils. I cannot believe my son–who is nowhere to be found–is responsible for this.
The boy tells me his brother and another boy were fighting. He went to break it up and my son punched him in the nose.
So, when his uniformed father–a soldier who’s been to Iraq–pulls up moments later, I offer the story and my opinion that the nose does not look broken. I apologize and he says, “Boys will be boys. When I was growing up, I broke my brother’s arm.” This confession consoles me. Then he says, “There has to be more to this story.” Really? That hadn’t occurred to me, but obviously, there must be.
I drive further around the circle, stopping at the other boy’s house. My sons are not there. When I return home, somewhat in a huff, I find them trying to look invisible.
I separate them and interrogate.
Their story is that another boy was fighting with the victim’s brother. The victim rushed over to–what? Intervene? Punch someone? We’ll never know, because my son grabbed him to stop him. The victim threw a punch, my son threw a punch, the victim grabbed my son, my son turned to run and whacked the victim in the nose with a random backhand.
The victim maintains that my son punched him straight on the nose. The other five boys, including the victim’s brother, corroborated my son’s story: the damaging blow was an accident.
Nevertheless, my son–who told his story with tears streaming down his face while he begged to know his punishment–has been grounded. He shouldn’t have interfered, shouldn’t have grabbed anyone and certainly shouldn’t have thrown any punches, even if they didn’t land.
The ironic thing is that the boy my son was defending is a weasel who doesn’t like him and whom he claims to dislike as well. The victim with the bloody nose, crying on his front porch, is his best friend.
And the whacked nose was not broken. I hope the friendship remains unbroken as well.
* * *
Update: The boys are still friends. The kid who was bloodied came over tonight so he could go to youth group with my sons.
Disclaimer: Should you happen to know me and my family in real life, please do not mention this incident to the boys. They don’t know I have a blog. As I attempt to balance their privacy with my exhibitionism, a stray comment from you to them might cause all my spinning plates to crash to the floor. And we don’t want that now, do we?
13 thoughts on “Life with boys”
Oh, poor things!
I hope so, too.
I’ve always been amazed with ‘guy’ friendships. They just do not seem to hold grudges like the girls do.
Wow what a day Mel! Is this what I have to look forward too. Right now I’ll enjoy hearing, “Don’t worry Mommy God poops in his pants sometimes too.” 🙂
Holy Cow! Good thing the boy had that soldier dad (that came in handy) – I’m sure they will still be friends – boys get over this stuff better than girls. See ya.
Do you really think he shouldn’t have intervened? What would you rather he have done?
I hate how that sounds, like I am trying to put you on the defensive. I’m not. Just trying to figure out if there was a right answer here. I feel bad for all concerned.
Oh my. I’m glad that it seems to have been an accident and that the nose wasn’t broken.
Boys…so hard to figure out. I love how they always end up being fast friends again so soon where as girls tend to “hate” each other the rest of their lives. I have always wondered why that is…?
I remember those days with my brothers…only it was usually each other they were hitting. I had SIX…all older. One time, my two youngest brothers were “indian wrestling” (where you use the pinky finger to do heaven only knows what” and one of them yelped in pain because his finger was broken in two and dangling. Sigh…I’m glad your son didn’t hit the other boy on purpose, that would have opened up a whole different can of worms.
I totally understand where you’re coming from on this, Mel. I probably would have grounded him, too. But there’s a part of me that thinks every guy should have a good left hook in his repertoire — just in case. I know. Totaly not PC, but it’s a rough world out there.
Wow… now you can add “police detective” to the many hats you wear! Good investigative work, momma.
The father was indeed a wise man…there’s always more to the story than initially meets the eye.
And boys and girls do relate to their own sex totally differently when it comes to conflicts….which is why it is so difficult when men and women marry and can’t figure out why they can’t resolve things. Men can drop it, women have to have complete closure. Interesting, indeed!
Wow…the dad is right, “Boys will be boys”. My youngest is a boy & he sure throws me for a loop 🙂
Btw, Great blog!
I’ve been the parent on the other end of a situation like that and believe me, if their friendship is strong, it will weather! The little boy who threw a rock which KNOCKED ouy my son’s front tooth (root and all, we love the endodontist) came by with a 5-gallon bucket of ice cream, balloons, and a huge hug after it happened. You could tell he felt awful, mostly because he was worried that he was going to loose a friend. It’s been almost 2 years and they are inseperable. It’ll be okay for your guys, too, after the punishment wears off.