Being the mom of other children, I loved these traits in my
youngest bundle of love. My oldest was brave, bold, and adventurous. He was
born ready to explore the world and its inhabitants. By himself. He didn’t want
my help. He didn’t need me or my guidance.
So, I relished my littlest and his sweet personality. I could
take him shopping without incident. He didn’t want to go off by himself. Hell,
he didn’t even want out of the cart. He didn’t have tantrums for candy bars. He
was a perfect replica of a perfect boy: cute, cuddly, and silent. He would
never say embarrassing things to strangers because he wouldn’t talk to them. It
was awesome.
Until...we were standing in line with a very ominous looking
guy covered in tattoos standing behind us. Head to toe, tattoos. This guy was
huge, intimidating, and unfriendly. He didn’t smile at my adorable boy. He didn’t smile at anyone. Being the
diligent, overprotective mother, I physically tried to block my preciousness
from view. But my boy wasn’t hiding behind my motherly strength; he was
twisting and turning to get a better view of this daunting creature of
manliness behind me.
And out of nowhere, completely to my horror, my boy says,
“Who colored on you?”
The big scary guy laughed all the way out of the store.