James arrives home from school flushed, sweaty and boy-stinky.
"I need a snack! And water! And a break!" he proclaims.
Mommy scoops peanut butter (please no salmonella, Lord?) onto apple slices. Stinky boy sits down at the homework table and munches.
"Life is hard for a kid," he says through a mouthful.
"It is, huh?"
"Yeah. Especially for a short kid."
"I see."
"Do you think God is gonna let me grow sometime this year? Like before school ends?"
"Maybe. But you're really just fine the way you—"
"Naw. I'm the third shortest kid in my class. I hate it."
"The third shortest? You know this for sure?"
"Yeah. We all lined up." Crunch, crunch. He licks his fingers appreciatevely and then lets out a barge-horn of a burp.
"James!"
He cackles. "Excuse me."
"But life isn't fair," he continues. "For a kid, I mean. I wanna be a grown up so I can boss everyone else around."
"Oh. Um…is that what you think I do?"
He thinks about this, staring out the window.
"Not really. Well…" he looks at me sideways, and smirks. "Kind of you do."
We both laugh.
"Well, you know, life isn't fair for adults, either," I say.
His eyes widen. "I don't believe it!"
"True story," I say.
"At least you're not short and bigger kids can't pick on you," he says, quietly.
So this is what's bothering him. He's still being picked on. My smart, scrappy kid is holding his own; but sometimes it just sucks being short. In elementary school it doesn't matter if you can do math in your head or rig up a complicated Lego set. No, it's all about size. And tether-ball skills.
And it's hard to win tether-ball when you're short. I know this from experience.
"Mom," he says, "can you play Xbox with me this afternoon?"
Ugh. It's the last thing I want to do. But I can't make him any taller. Sooooo…..
"Alright. After homework."
"Sweet!"
Pause.
"Can I have an Oreo cookie, too?"
