Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. (from the Adventures of Tom Sawyer)
Last summer, at the ripe ol' age of 9, Gabe was handed over the reins (or handle) of the lawnmower by his big brother, Christian. When I looked out and saw Gabe doing (a little haphazardly as you would expect) what was supposed to be Christian's job, I called my older boy over to question his morals. "But mom, he wanted to mow."
Saturday, I again looked out to see Christian's friend, Tyler, bowing off my driveway. Yep, you guessed it- Christian's job. "Hey, thanks Tyler!" I called out, giving my boy a knowing sideways glance. In a flash, Christian was at my side whispering, "mom...just so you know, he wanted to do it." Of course he did, Tom. Of course he did.
As boys do not cease to be boys, just before finishing, Tyler was able to help Christian blow-dry his hair.
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