Grady came barreling through the door after school today shouting, “Mom, mom, mom, maaaaahhhhm! You won’t believe it! Michael is a man!”
Of course, I jumped out of my chair to join in his excitement and share his enthusiasm!
I have to ask. “He is? Michael is a man? Oh boy! (I mean, man.) Michael is a man?”
I pause waiting for more information. Grady just beams with joy and stares at me.
I nudge him along. “So, who is Michael?”
“Michael is in my class. He took his mask off for lunch today and I said, “Hey, Michael is that a mustache on your lip?” And sure enough, it was! Michael has a very small (but very real) mustache. He’s a man at the age of 9. Or 10. I don’t know. But he’s very young to be a man.”
“Wow. That’s wild. A mustache? Are you sure?” I ask.
Grady looks at me like I’ve looked at my own mother a thousand times. Like duh.
He regains his oomph and gives me more details. “Yes, I am sure. I saw it with my own two eyes. I told him to buckle up because when you become a man… that’s when you start paying taxes.”
(Anyone who knows Grady, knows he actually said that.)
Poor Michael. I’m sure he’s a wreck tonight. Not only is he going to sleep with a hairy lip, but now he’s the only kid in 4th grade having nightmares about constructed dividends and gross margins.
Man, Oh, Man.