Richard's grandsons are here for a 10-day visit. They are 9 and 11 and they are men of action."We. Must. Go. Swimming! Cold is of no concern to us. We are hardy Welshmen. Hardy Welshmen are impervious to cold!"
Later they proclaimed it only 2 degrees colder than the English Channel. Wait a minute! Does their mother let them swim in the English Channel??
I love this age. Brash, bold and basic. Uncensored and uncivilized. In a good way.
Boy-speak cracks me up. Listening to their conversation amuses me no end. It's all about conquering and winning, subduing and mastering your domain. Getting out there and showing the world who's boss. They come back from walks and produce evidence - pine cones, acorns, seed pods. They have surveyed the environment and found it good.
Last night we saw a deer in the road on our way home. Not content to merely observe they shouted from the back seat, "Honk at it Grand Dad! Make it run! Honk! Honk!" What they really wanted to do was get out and chase it - exert their influence, we are men to be feared! Who knows? I believe they might have caught it.
Alex is the wise one. Quietly observing and interpreting, he's very sensitive to what's going on and there's not much he misses. His understanding is impressive. The older brother Marc is the swashbuckler, leading the charge and delivering important information every step of the way. For Alex's own good of course, otherwise, how would he know?
It would mortify them to hear me say this, but they have a sweet relationship. There's the usual amount of jousting, punches and insults. But they are toughening each other up very gently. It's clear they are a team. My fondest hope for them is that they will remain each other's best friend. And, although they may not master the Universe, they will find their place in it.
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