Drum roll, please!
You heard it here first.
My oldest son, Brishen himself, called and asked a girl to the homeschool formal masquerade next month!!
It was the shortest phone call ever, but it was cute as could be. (Shh. He doesn't want to be called cute.)
You may stop shouting, "Nooooooo!!!!!" (Grandmother), and you may close your open jaws.
He's a high schooler. They do these things.
Disclaimer: This was not Brishen's idea. It was a fix-up. The mom of the girl in question emailed me saying her beautiful daughter really wants to experience a prom like her public school friends and thought Brishen was "cute." She warned me that her daughter would likely bore my son with talk of Greek Mythology and science, so I knew they would have a good time. I always knew that if such a request ever came about, I would make Brishen to go and experience it. I knew he would be reluctant, but he was quite a bit less reluctant than I expected. The mom didn't expect him to call her daughter and ask, but I knew it, too, would be a good life experience for him. I assured him that the experience would be valuable, that he was lucky that he needn't fear rejection, and that the girl is moving to the East Coast very soon, so there would be no future strings attached. The girl is very smart and cute, so that probably did most of the prodding for me. I love the Rudyard Kipling poem, "If". It is about being a real man, and I had Brishen memorize it some time ago. I told Brishen that after he braved the phone call and event then "you will be a man, my son." He was so polite and suave on the phone that I actually believe I was right.
If—
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
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