When my Brat came home late Saturday
afternoon, he looked somewhat confused. He gave me a smile. He didn't have that
rough and tumbled look; no skinned knees or busted lip, no scraps or bruises
like he usually does when he's been hanging out with his skater buddies.
"What's wrong?" I asked, handing
him a glass of ice tea.
"Nothing," he responds, taking
the tea and taking a drink of it.
"Did you and your friends have a
disagreement?" I asked. He told me once that they were no longer 12; they
didn't have fights, they had disagreements that usually ended up with a bloody
nose or busted lip or just plain bang up.
"No we're alright, everything's
fine," he said, giving me a tea kiss and heading down the hall to the
bathroom.
I smiled. 'Oh wow, there's world peace with
the brats today. I wonder how long it will last?' I thought as I also took a
drink of ice tea.
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