Last night, I ran Jack and his friend Julian up to Blockbuster. I handed them my returns and waited in the car while they went in to pick out a couple of rentals.
I could see the boys through the window and became wistful, bordering on teary. They looked so grown-up in their man-sized jeans and shoes. And they're good boys. I like Jack's friends, I was thinking.
I would watch as girls passed them in the store. The boys would look over their shoulders casually and appreciatively, but there was none of the nudging and nastiness under the breath to each other that I see so often when boys are together.
I was feeling downright poetic, thinking I might actually try--for the first time in over a year--to write a poem about my son.
And then they were at the counter, Jack and Julian, eyeing the candy, considering the energy drinks, and it hit me: they were unwittingly getting ready to hand over to the older teen guy working the register--my rentals from the weekend: