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A story about guilt

There’s only a story today.

No recipe, no running, no whining (relief, huh?).

Just a story.

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You know I adore this kid. He’s almost perfect. Almost.

Today he was a little sassy with Matty B. The conversation that started the drama went something like this:

Setting: J Man has just kicked a soccer ball that (accidentally) hit Miss Rae’s face. Oops.

Matty B: Please don’t kick the soccer ball at your sister.

J Man: (walking closer to Miss Rae with the ball) Ok. (He aims for her.)

Matty B: You’re not listening.

J Man: I AM listening. (continuing on with the shenanigans.)

Matty B: No, you’re not listening.

J Man, NO, YOU’RE NOT LISTENING!

Oops.

So, Matty B handled it like the awesome daddy that he is and a time-out ensued and all was well.

That’s not the good part. Stick around.

So I got home from work. I’m asking about everyone’s day and I can see that J Man is not acting like himself. Matty B starts telling me about how they played soccer (not mentioning the incident at all) and J Man immediately gets up and goes inside the house. He stands at the glass door, peering at us through the blinds.

That kiddo stood there watching us (as we’re chatting about everything but the incident) for a good 10 minutes before he opened the door and asked:

“Are you guys talking about something?”

Matty B said, “Is there something we should be talking about?”

Ignored.

Without a word, J Man went back into the house. Locked the door.

Locked the door.

I laughed and laughed and laughed.

We never talked about the incident. And that kid’s sense of guilt is going to serve me well for the future.

The girl?

She told us the other day that she wants to worship idols. (We had just read a Bible story.)

Something tells me that “guilt” isn’t in her vocabulary.

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