Our eldest got suspended from school once for fighting. But when we learned it was because some eighteen-year-old senior was hitting on a little freshman (and not taking ‘no’ for an answer) we took him out for a fancy dinner instead of punishing him.
We weren’t, and would never be, a ‘violence never solves anything’ kind of family. Experience told us otherwise. But we were a ‘use violence wisely’ family. And the kids respected that.
Grades were good.
Adults were respected.
They didn’t mouth off.
We were okay with a little teenage rebellion if they were, as a whole, good people.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to make this kid seriously reconsider sneaking around and drinking again.
“So, since our eldest is prospecting, and you are busy torturing our middle, I think I am going to take our youngest up to Hailstorm to kick some soldiers’ asses.”
“Take some videos,” I demanded.
I never got sick of watching our sweet, petite, golden-haired, blue-eyed little girl going feral at the drop of a dime.
She was a lot like her mother.
Soft.
Loving.
Always taking care of others.
Constantly crying over shit.
But every once in a blue moon when she got good and pissed off, I saw little glimpses of myself in her. A fierceness, a ruthlessness that demanded respect.
She also loved the birds.
So much so that when she found an abandoned baby dove, she nursed it back to health and still had it as her little best friend many years later. The bird joined us at the dinner table most nights. And had a special diaper and leash so it could go on adventures with her.
“I was thinking of inviting that neighbor boy who is puppy-dog-eyeing her to come with us.”
“As a warning,” I said, nodding.
“As a reminder that she doesn’t need her big brothers around to protect her,” Gracie clarified.
While actual dating was likely a few years off still, Gracie seemed relatively comfortable with our girl eventually entering into that phase of life.
I suddenly had a newfound respect for Duke because I didn’t think a single guy on earth would ever deserve that girl.
Her brothers were on board with that thought process too.
“Uh-oh,” Gracie said, wincing as the sound of our middle kid getting sick in the hall bath drifted in our direction.
“Yeah, he’s about to not have a great day.”
“Don’t be too hard on him.”
“Couple hours of manual labor. Then you can coddle him.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Then you and me, we gotta take a trip over to Billie’s place.”
