Happy Birthday Josie Jo!

** Josie's birthday is November 10--this is "her" column

      

Thirteen years ago today, Josie McKenna Breitsprecher came kicking and screaming into this world—and made me the happiest woman on earth.  I had so dreamed of having a little girl I could dress up in lace and with whom I could have tea parties.  Although my vision of a girly-girl for a daughter never happened, Josie still continues to make me the happiest woman on earth every single day. 

            The day I found out that I was expecting a second child I had no idea I was pregnant.  I remember it was the first day of the NCAA tournament and much of the staff was gathered in the library to watch those opening games, looking for that Cinderella upset.  It was starting to sleet outside and I needed to run to Fort Dodge to pick up my taxes at the accountant’s.  Mr. Lyons, the superintendent, told me to leave early before the roads got bad. 

            Less than an hour later I was on my way home—but the roads were faster than me and were already pretty icy.  It was directly in front of Shelton’s house that another driver lost control and hit me head on.    The Lord was with me and put my friend Deb Krug in the car behind mine.  She opened the door and said, “Oh my God, it’s Kendra” and then took control, calling 911.

            The ambulance took me to the hospital in Fort Dodge and about ten hours later I awoke in a room, recovering from extensive surgery to my face, which had gone through the windshield.  I was covered in blood and glass and wanted to take a shower. The nurse told me this wasn’t possible, as it was 3:00 in the morning. I then asked for a sedative and she said, “Okay, but it might not be a good idea.  You know you’re pregnant.”

            Huh?  I had NO IDEA I was pregnant and being told this after several hours of surgery was stressful, to say the least.  To say I freaked out was putting it mildly.  I spent the next few hours talking to God and deciding that this pregnancy was indeed a blessing and that I was thrilled to be giving Cody a sibling.

            Thrilled—but cautious.  I spent the next 8 1/2 months worrying that something would be wrong with my little bundle.  Even the anesthesiologist told me that there were many dangers in exposing a fetus to so many drugs as they did during surgery.   My doctor told me that there was a good chance I would lose the baby in the first trimester.  

            Some of my fears were alleviated at the first ultrasound.  Not only did the picture show two arms, two legs, etc. but also that this baby was a GIRL.  Dean and I ran out and bought every copy of the new song “Butterfly Kisses” in the store.  I immediately started shopping for soft dolls and frilly outfits.

            When Josie finally decided to make her entrance, she came fast and furious—and was really not cute at all.  Seriously—the girl looked like a blue monkey. The nurses took her away and she came back pink and beautiful—thank Goodness—and a serious love story deepened.

            Now, thirteen years later, the love keeps getting stronger and stronger.  As much as I fear the teenage years (with all the eye rolling and sighed “Oh Mom’s”), it can’t be as difficult as those first few months, when I wasn’t sure it Josie was going to be “okay,” let alone as exceptional as she turned out.

            The moral of this story is that a person’s political beliefs do not necessarily have to be their personal beliefs.  Although I strongly support a woman’s right to choose, I never considered having an abortion for an instant, even though quite a few people suggested it might be the best course.    Ten minutes in a doctor’s office would have erased the miracle that is Josie from the world—and that certainly would have been a tragedy.

            Josie is celebrating with a HUGE luau party this weekend.  I will be celebrating more quietly by thanking the Lord for listening to me that night so many years ago in the hospital room, when I asked for comfort and he gave it.   And thanking him for giving me Josie, as well.  Even though she prefers football to tea parties, playing catch to painting her nails, she is and will always be my perfect little girl.

Class Reunion Speech

            When Heidi asked me to give this speech, I almost said no.  I mean—I can’t remember things that happened yesterday or even this morning. Sometimes I forget the names of my own children.  How am I supposed to remember and make comments on a graduating class from 15 years ago, for Pete’s sake?

            So, I started in the logical place:  the 1995 Southeast Webster annual.  And the memories started flooding back.  Yep—there’s Chrissy and her dad, who was school board president at the time.  There’s Nathan—who won the band AND vocal award that year.    There’s Jon Walker and his long red hair.  K, it’s all coming back to me now.  It seemed appropriate to organize this little speech around the 1995 Aerie yearbook:  “Making our Mark.”

            Journey back with me 15 years, when the school down the road was not yet named Southeast Webster GRAND, but was no longer named Central Webster-Dayton.  Apparently plaid was really, really in style. I offer this class photo as evidence of that particular fashion trend (show yearbook photo).  You guys look a lot like lumberjacks, going into the woods to chop an oak to keep the cabin warm in the winter.    Another fashion trend I noticed was bib overalls.  Seriously—ladies—not a good look.

            Turning the page, we see the awards:  Let’s see:  Class Couple:  Chad Lambert and Chrissy Cramer.  Well—that one worked out.  Chad and Chrissy have now been married for 11 years and have 4 kids.  Chrissy is the elementary guidance counselor and my kids call her “Mrs. Lambert.”  I bet she’s a pretty cool counselor.

            Chad and Chrissy were the homecoming king and queen that year.  A few years back, Dave and Patty Cramer were named honorary homecoming king and queen at SWG.    I thought this had a certain nice symmetry to it. 

In 1995, the other candidates were Jodi, Rachel, Grant, and Jimmy Jennett.  Which one of these doesn’t really fit??  Wasn’t Jimmy the one that Jamie and Gina wrote a poem about their freshman year?  I tend to remember grading that, laughing my ass off, and then telling them it was inappropriate.   One Jimmy Jennett memory still gives me nightmares:  When he cut Ray Bass’ hair for his how-to speech.   I think he paid Ray five bucks and two video games for the privilege of showing the freshman “how to” give a Mohawk haircut.  I remember sitting there, as Ray’s hair dropped to the floor, thinking, “Bad idea—now I’m gonna have to talk to Eddie.  Poop.”  Speaking of poop, that was also the year that Kyla Hansen brought a dog to class for a speech and it pooped in the hall and Jim Brundage was FURIOUS with me.   My classroom was on the second floor of the old building and apparently Kyla’s dog had a little accident on the stairs. Oops.

            How many of you remember a speech you gave—or one given by your classmates?  I asked Gina what she remembered from my class and she said, “A lot is always two words” and “there is always a better word than got.”  Well—I guess that’s something.  What do you remember at your days as an Eagle??

            Bob Butrick was another member of the class of ’95 that is now also employed by the school.  He is the Behavior Interventionalist in the Burnside building and my daughter’s football and basketball coach.  His senior quote was “When you drop your keys into hot molten lava, just forget it man because they are gone.” Seriously Bob—someone who left that message for all eternity is now entrusted with the care and safekeeping of my only daughter??? Let this serve as a warning to today’s high school seniors:  choose your senior quote wisely for someday you may be asked to explain what the heck you were thinking.  And—yes, I did say that Bob is Josie’s FOOTBALL coach—that’s another story for another time.

            The other Behavior Interventionalist for SWG is Becky Davis, nee Vandi, also a class of 1995 member.  She married high school sweetheart Curt Davis, also a 95 grad.    She’s still a red head and still feisty and my kids love her.

            Jamie Liska’s senior quote was “If I’m going to get blamed for something, I might as well do it.”  Like:  If I’m gonna get blamed for dating my math teacher, I might as well go ahead and marry him.  Or something like that.

            On the faculty page of the yearbook, there is Andrew Everett—not smiling at all: Dan Fluckiger, who looks like he was just frightened:  Lori Ferrari, looking beautiful as always.  There is also a photo of Mr. Gilson, Mrs. Kalahar, and me dressed up like we are pregnant for Homecoming week.   I remember we wore matching maternity jumpers and used a beach ball for a pregnancy belly.  That was pretty clever if I do say so myself. 

            There’s also a shot of Joy Summers—remember her?  The special ed teacher who I always thought bore an uncanny resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.  Summers was her married name—she married Oscar Summers who was the little league baseball coach for over a decade.   He used to practice in the old tennis courts and put money in the fence; if you hit the money with a ball you could keep it.    I remember the first day I met her.  Her name was Meister then and she stood up at the faculty meeting and introduced herself as Joy Meister.  Mr. Fluckiger literally fell out of his chair to stop from laughing.  “The Joy Meister” stuck as her nickname for the next five years.

            Ralph Johnson was your principal and Ted Lyons was your superintendent—making you plenty lucky indeed.   In all my years of education, I never encountered a team that could live up to the standards set by those two gentlemen. They loved kids and they believed in education and they were simply stand-up guys all around—a real class act.

            That was also the year of the Donkey Ball game in the gym.   Remember that?  Mr. Everett looked like he was ticked at the donkey and we actually felt sorry for the animal.  I got a question:  did anyone ever see that man smile??  I was somehow talked into riding a donkey for this fundraiser.  Mr. Theobald was the announcer and my nickname was “Kendra ‘my Cody is cuter than Kathie Lee’s Cody’ Breitsprecher.” 

            I keep flipping through the book and I see my personal favorite spread:  the speech pages.  I need to say something public:  Hey—Becky—I apologize for making you do that mime.  “This is your life, Suzy Starlight’??  What was I thinking?  That year Jodi Collen went to all-state with Shadd Scharf for a play entitled “The Kissing Scene.” They kissed like 25 times in 15 minutes.  I remember them wanting to practice all the time.    Jon Walker and Alyssa Corson went to all state that year too—so I’m thinking you had a pretty creative and successful class.  Alyssa continued acting after graduation, doing several plays at Iowa Central and then at Hawkeye Community Theatre.  We recently auditioned for “Steel Magnolias” together—She received the part of Shelby; I received . . . nothing . Not that I’m bitter or anything, but the student getting a part and the teacher getting the shaft does not seem right, does it? I am thinking she should make it up to me by baking me a cake.  In case you don’t now it, Alyssa has a home business were she bakes and decorates gourmet cakes for special occasions. I have used her service many times and all I can say is YUM. Serious—Alyssa—a snickerdoodle cake delivered to my house would go a long way in helping me forget the whole play audition incident. I’m just sayin.

            And—while I’m apologizing—sorry Lindsay for the Catwoman suit you had to wear in the dinner theatre that year.    We had “mimes of ceremony” that year and Becky had to do it again—this time with Holly and Jennifer Barkhaus.  Yeah—sorry again.

            Three of you were also selected for all-state choir:  Alyssa,  Nate Eslick, and Toki Selby.  Remember how thrilled Mr. Albert was?  He put little signs on your lockers.

            As I continue to flip through the annual, I turn to the prom page.  There’s me, Mr. Theobald, and Mr. Lyons after our Prom Speech Championship. In case you don’t remember, this is the one where I whipped of my dress and did a little dance number to a song I wrote about Aaron Check.  Bad idea.  Really, REALLY bad idea.  I’m thinking I’m going to be apologizing all night long.  Sorry Aaron. Sorry senior theatre class for making you help me.  Sorry everyone for making you watch it.

I remember Mr. McClure threatening to walk out of prom if I made any jokes about him.   So, I gave my “Barney” jokes to Mr. Lyons to make—not like McClure could yell at the boss.  Being prom sponsor with Mr. McClure—not so much fun.  I am pretty sure that if I would have been allowed to make my Barney jokes, I would have won the stupid prom speech competition and not come in a miserable third.

Rachel Shanahan and Grant VanGilder were prom king and queen that year—Grant looks freaking thrilled to be wearing that crown.  Gina and her date are featured on this page as well—although Gina looks beautiful in a white feathery dress, Tracy is wearing a Mickey Mouse tux.  Another bad fashion choice.

There’s a photo of Carlos Silva, the foreign exchange student.  Does anyone ever hear from him? 

1995 was the year Mr. Theobald took a bunch of kids to London, France, and the Riveria.  According to the yearbook, it was an eventful trip.  Apparently, Jamie and Amy Flickinger were flashed by a streaker,  Jodi Collen was locked in a cemetery, and Gina DeGroote broke the handle of her suitcase and held up the entire trip.

It was the first year of the Talon chapter of the National Honor Society, started by yours truly and Jodi Collen, who—coincidently—was one of the first inductees.  Hmmm . . .

The senior girls on the annual staff were Amy Flickinger, Jamie Liska, Gina DeGroote, Jodi Collen, and Holly Gilliland—which might explain why there are photos of them on every single page of the yearbook. Seriously, folks, according to the 1995 annual Gina is on the football page and Holly is in FFA.  Those girls were ACTIVE.  I also remember Gina and Jamie giving a speech at graduation and everyone being all worried about “what would those rebel girls say??”  Alas, they were very dignified and said nothing at all naughty.

Moving onto sports: wasn’t that the year without a softball coach? Didn’t Jodi set some sort of three-point record?  Didn’t girls’ basketball go quite a ways in the tournament and have a really good season?  Yeah—I didn’t pay that much attention to sports.  The only reason I even remember the Jodi/girls’ basketball thing is because it interfered with all-state speech!  The yearbook did say that Chad was an all-state linebacker in football—so that’s a good thing, right?

I do wish I had paid more attention to sports when I didn’t have kids and had more time. Now I have children in all sorts of sports and spend a great deal of time clueless—or asking annoying questions to people like Heidi about basic rules of the games.  It is kind of odd to be friends with people I used to tell to walk in the hall.

The yearbook ends with some personal notes from parents to their graduating seniors—and a sappy poem written by none other than Jodi Marissa Collen.   And I end this speech with a reminder that you all were part of something special in high school.  Not only did you have great friends and great memories, but you were taught by great teachers and led by great administrators. 

As most of you know, I no longer teach high school and the last five years of my life have been difficult, to say the least. I choose to view these years as a “blip” in an otherwise fantabulous life of education and service.

This may sound odd in a class reunion speech, but I hope that high school just a “blip” in your life—a wonderful, beautiful, magical blip, but a blip none-the less.  You are all way too talented and smart and beautiful to have the four years of high school be the highlight of your life.   And—I have no doubt that every single one of you are leading successful lives and have some great stories to tell—whether you have 14 kids like Chrissy and Chad or you have an exciting, unusual career like Jodi or you defeated cancer not once, but twice like Alyssa—or if you are just quietly working every day to make the world a better place—I am sure that the class of 1995 are indeed MAKING THEIR MARK.

Here’s to the class of 1995.  I can hardly wait to mingle with you all after this dinner and hear all about your lives and travels.  Here’s to another fantastic 15 years.

'I believe in God'

*This was my writing published this summer in The Lutheran online magazine.  I have had requests to read it--so here goes!**

Our oldest son Cody has attended Riverside Lutheran Bible Camp in Story City, Iowa, since he was in the second grade. It was always the highlight of his summer. Our family is very active in our congregation, Emanuel Lutheran in Dayton, Iowa, and Cody was confirmed right on schedule. Cody received his driver's permit in October of his freshman year. He attends school about 8 miles from our home. Three days after he finally (after several attempts) received his permit, tragedy occurred. Breaking about 100 household rules, Cody decided to drive friends home after school, traveling on gravel roads. In less than 10 minutes after school was dismissed, Cody had flipped the van, injuring five friends and killing one.
Needless to say, the effects of this were far-reaching, including Cody's hospitalization for severe depression the following March. After this, Cody decided he no longer believed in God and would no longer attend church services with the family.
I told Cody that I wanted him to attend Riverside with "an open heart and an open mind." If he still didn't believe in God after that, I wouldn't make him attend church in the fall. Then I started praying. I also warned his camp counselors about his mind-set, and they all started praying as well. I activated my church's prayer chain and even posted a call for prayers on my Facebook page.
All week while he was at camp, I expected a phone call telling me to come pick up my very angry and disruptive son. The call never came. When I arrived at the cabin to pick him up, I was greeted with a huge smile, hug and an enthusiastic "I believe in God."
Cody told me that the last night there, they had an "open mic" time at chapel. He volunteered to tell his story. At that moment, he clearly felt the love of God and the burden of the accidental death of his friend lifted from him. He told me how the staff and his cabinmates spent the night with him, praying and talking.
Riverside Lutheran Bible Camp is truly a place of miracles, and I vow to send all three of my children there every summer, no matter what sacrifice we must make financially.
The Lord is present at Riverside in a mighty way, and I am eternally grateful for the role the camp played in giving me back my oldest child.

---

WEIGHING IN ON THE GROUND ZERO MOSQUE

 

Before you all whip out your poison pens (or poison keyboards for that matter), let me make this perfectly clear:  building a mosque at Ground Zero is a really, REALLY bad idea.  Not only is it insensitive to millions of Americans, it will causes even more division in our already deeply divided nation.

            That being said:  building a mosque at ground zero is 1) perfectly legal and 2) much in keeping with the principles on which this country was founded.  Just as freedom of speech gives people the right for repugnant speech (think KKK rally), freedom of religion give people the right to build places of worship pretty much anywhere they want. 

            Newt Gingrich recently stated on his blog: “There should be no mosque near Ground Zero in New York so long as there are no churches or synagogues in Saudi Arabia.”

            The logic behind this statement is not only flawed, but also somewhat nonsensical.  It is not logical to compare the USA with Saudi Arabia.  In my opinion, we are BETTER than they are precisely because we do offer freedom of religion (and all sorts of other freedoms as well—for example, our women can drive cars).  Saudi Arabia is a sovereign nation; they can make whatever rules they want for their own country—even offensive rules.  We are also a sovereign nation—one that prides itself on fairness and freedoms and leading the way in Democracy.  We make BETTER rules—that’s why people will risk their lives for a chance at living here.

            To be precise:  the proposed Islamic center is not to be located exactly at ground zero.  Even liberal commentator George Stephanolous agrees that this is “sacred ground” when discussing the issue with conservative pundit Laura Ingraham.  The center is to be located about two blocks from ground zero.  As a matter of fact, a person outside the center would not even be able to see ground zero.

            Still, majorly bad idea.  It’s just . . . tacky and in poor taste.  However, unless the US government declares the entire area a national park, there is nothing legal to stop it from being built.  And—if the entire are is declared a park—then NO ONE can build on it, Muslim or otherwise. 

            With New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg behind the mosque, it looks like it’ll be built—and Bloomberg will probably never get elected again.  Even the Anti-Defamation League says building a mosque so close to the site of the 9-11 tragedy is a bad idea.

            But there are LOTS of bad ideas out there.    A church in Gainesville, Florida sponsored a “International Burn a Koran” day September 11.   The pastor of Dove World Outreach Center (not exactly a major denomination) said he would go through with the event, even after General David Petraeus said it was a really bad idea and would probably cause even more Americans to be killed. "Once in awhile, you see that in the Bible, there are instances where enough is enough and you stand up," Terry Jones said. 

Just as I want to shake the Iman who wants to build the Cordoba Center at Ground Zero, I want to shout to this pastor:  “Hey—Terry—do you understand that doves are the symbol of peace and your idea for a “rally” is exactly the opposite of that?  Maybe change the name of your church to Moron World or Intolerance World or Bubba World.”  The “Burn a Koran” day even has a Facebook presence—seriously.  Their profile photo is a blood-red sign that reads: “Islam is of the Devil.”  However, because of that silly Freedom of Speech, they have the right to this page—and the right to host their offensive rally.  That’s the way it works, folks. The knife cuts both ways.

Idol Nation

            2010 will go down as the Summer of American Idol for me.     As the season of sunshine was winding down, I experienced not one, not two, but THREE concerts given by Idol Alumni.

            The first concert was a birthday gift from my neighbors Brad and Kim Anderson.   Thanks to a contest hosted by radio station 102.5, I was treated to a prime rib sandwich lunch and a mini-concert by Kris Allen at Fleming’s Steak House in Des Moines.   Kris was the winner of Idol’s 8^th season, defeating my personal favorite Adam Lambert. Kris was much shorter in person than he looked on TV.

            Only about 40 people were invited to this nifty event, so it felt very exclusive.  We dined and then Kris took the stage and sang about 5 songs, chatting with the audience in between.  He told a very funny story about how he was in the men’s room and heard his own song on the radio.  He said he didn’t sing along because that would have been “just weird.”    We then had our photos taken with the singer and were given an autographed photo.

            I was probably most impressed that Season 9 finalist and West Des Moines native Katelyn Epperly was sitting at the very next table.   I couldn’t keep myself from pointing and staring.  My lack of coolness concerning anything Idol continues to amaze even me.

            Just a week later, I sat in 8^th row seats at the Season 9 Idol concert at Wells Fargo Arena in Des Moines with my fine arts friend Lindey and my daughter Josie.  Coincidently, I won two additional tickets to this concert from the same radio station, 102.5.  Because of this we were able to take neighbors Kim and Cameron with us as well.  This was a full concert, lasting over two hours, and very high energy.

            My favorite Idol from that season was Casey James, who is GORGEOUS.  He might have sang as well, I don’t know—I couldn’t hear a thing over the thumping of my heart!  Probably the best performer of the group of ten Idols was 2^nd place winner Crystal Bowersocks, who was amazing.    It seems to me like the second place winner is always a little bit better and more successful than the actual Idol.  Clay Aiken, for instance, is experiencing more success than the winner of Season 2 Ruben Studdard. 

            Katleyn Epperly didn’t perform at the concert because she didn’t finish in the top ten. At first I thought this had to be hard on the Iowa native, but then I read some of her interview.  Methinks this little girl has a major attitude.

            Lindey and I spent the concert on our feet; we were unable to drag Kim away from her new Blackberry, and Josie and Cameron fluctuated between rocking out and sitting there sulking, like typical pre-teens.  All-in-all, a fantastic evening was had by all.

            My final Idol concert was 8 days later when Lindey and I once again ventured out to see Adam Lambert (the guy that finished 2^nd to Kris Allen) give an outdoor concert in Des Moines. It was supposed to be at the Simon Estes Amphitheatre, but was moved to a downtown bridge due to flooding.  Adam remarked that it was the first time he had ever performed on a bridge.  4^th place finisher Alison Iraheta was the opening act for glam rocker Lambert.  Man, that girl can wail!

            The crowd was almost more fun to watch than the concert.  It reminded me of my concert heyday in the 80’s when I’d whip out the zebra mini-skirt and the red high heels to go see the Kinks.   Much of the crowd was all dressed up in leather, velvet, platform boots, even feathers.  I felt like a middle-aged nerd wearing my jeans and tennies.  Actually, there were basically two kinds of people in the audience: super flamboyant young, obviously gay people and middle-aged women.   Adam draws an odd crowd.  I seriously didn't think there were that many openly homosexual people in Iowa.  I said this to Lindey and she pointed out that I basically live in the middle of a corn field and naturally wouldn't see that many drag queens.

           Speaking of drag queens, Lindey and I were checking out a gorgeous person with Pink-esque blonde hair and dramatic makeup, wearing a leather bra and mini  skirt, fishnet hose, and thigh-high boots.  We both remarked that we were jealous of this girl's "out-there" good looks--then the girl turned around it--and, yeah--you guessed it--it was a guy.  It just doesn't seem fair when a man is prettier than you are!

            Once again, Katelyn Epperly was at the concert and once again, I pointed and stared.  I’m nothing, if not consistent.  Towards the end of the music, the Iowa Cubs set off fireworks.  Adam laughed and said, “Of course the fireworks go off during my quietest song!”  The rest of the concert was high energy, with back-up dancers and lots of costume changes.   This concert was VERY different than the other Idol events—but, then again, Adam Lambert is not your typical, All-American Idol.   If you have no idea what I am talking about, Google him and you’ll see right away.

            Fall has officially arrived and I am eagerly awaiting Season 10 of Idol this winter.  In the meantime, Bristol Palin and Kurt Warner are both on Dancing with the Stars.    That should be good for a laugh or two until Idol starts up again and I pick a new singer to be my favorite.  I’m hoping American Idol stays popular for a long, long time.  If not for Idol, my concert-going would be limited to junior high band gigs, and although they are very fun, no one wears a purple top hat decorated with an ostrich feather and, geesh, what’s a concert without a little glam??

Bristol on DWTS--there's gotta be a column in there somewhere!

Bristol Palin is gonna be one of the "celebrities" on this season's Dancing with the Stars.  Pretty sure this might be the funniest thing EVER to this Sarah Palin-obsessed columnist.  At least it is Bristol and not Levi--who makes my stomach churn.  Just another reason to waste my life sitting on the couch watching television. More on this to come, I'm sure!

GUN STORY: HOW ONE ADORABLE BOY TURNED HIS PACIFISTS’ MOM HOUSE INTO AN ARMORY

   

You all know I am a left-wing, tree-hugging hippie, so it should be of no surprise that I hate firearms.  I think most guns should be illegal and that bullets should cost $100 each (yet another reason I’ll never be elected to the US Senate).  With this in mind, it might surprise you to know my house has its own personal arsenal.  Stored in a huge antique trunk in my son Patrick’s room a person can find everything from a .357 Magnum to a bright orange gun used to shoot aliens.  Yep—my youngest son somehow managed to become a gun enthusiast while growing up in the house of an avowed pacifist.  Say it ain’t so.

            I can take part of the blame for Paddy’s obsession with guns.  With my first-born Cody, I was militant about banning all toy weapons from our home (get it? Militant—toy weapons—sometimes I crack myself up!).  Cody wasn’t allowed to have any toy that even remotely resembled a gun.  By the age of four, whatever primal instinct makes kids want to play with firearms kicked in and he was literally chewing his toast into the shape of a gun so he could go “shoot” his sister.  Lego’s also became sub-machine guns and plastic cups were stacked to become anti-aircraft missiles.  I figured at least he was using his imagination as he waged an imaginary war.

            Josie was never into guns—the minute she attended her first t-ball game, sports were her number one priority.  By the time Paddy came along, I was worn out from being a working mom and I guess I became a little lax.  Patrick started trading his friends for their guns in about kindergarten.    He’d take a cute little stuffed animal that I had bought him to the playground and come home with a Luger.    At first I tried to make him either take it back or throw it away.  “No guns on my property,” I righteously proclaimed.

            Then the tears would well in my adorable son’s eyes and I’d relent—a little.  “Okay,” I’d tell him, “you can keep them in the garage and play with them outside, but they absolutely, positively, in no way can come in the house.”

            Yeah—that lasted about a month.  Then the weapons slowly started creeping inside, although I will give Patrick some credit for trying to hide them.  One day I was cleaning the living room and found three machine guns, eight handguns, and two light-sabers under the couch.  I moved them to the garage and reminded Patrick, once again, about the gun rule.

            This summer I finally gave up entirely and allowed Patrick to store his guns in his bedroom, as long as they are always returned to the “gun trunk” when he is done playing with them.  This happened when I came home from a yard sale with a huge antique trunk and Patrick talked me into letting him keep it in his room.  He explained that “real pirates” stored their guns in trunks exactly like the one I had purchased for $5.  It seemed completely logical to his ten-year-old mind that the trunk should be used as a place to store his ever-growing arsenal. 

            At that moment, I conceded the gun war (get it?—gun war—I’m a punning machine today) and moved the trunk into his bedroom.  I guess it was a good compromise:  I no longer find guns hidden behind my refrigerator and Patrick is one step closer to being a “real pirate.”

            Still, I wonder how exactly I went from “no guns in my house” to “what kind of gun do you want for your birthday, honey?”   I guess it is all part of letting our kids be who they are—not who we want them to be. Just like letting Josie play football and putting up with Cody’s taste in music, Paddy’s love for guns is part of his personality and I need to embrace that, no matter how it sticks in my craw.  Let’s just hope he doesn’t want to join the NRA next; I’m pretty sure I’d have to put my foot down on that one!