Bill overheard a conversation between Katie and a non-homeschooled friend.
“Who is the cutest boy in your class?” the friend asked.
Now, I was born boy-crazy (I think my first “marriage” was when I was 5 or 6 to a boy named Scotty, and my handwriting notebook was covered with the names of two boys, Patrick and Joseph, whom I adored in 2nd and 3rd grade), so this aspect of the conversation doesn’t bother me. It does, however, make me thankful that I, as a parent, have been mainly spared, so far, all this love/crush-drama. We don’t have cute or not-so-cute boys to distract from our studies, just the constant din of an active household, which is quite bad enough.
I did, later and without referencing Katie’s overheard conversation, ask Katie if her friend knew she was homeschooled…I mean, really knew what that meant. She knows, but I think she doesn’t really know. Sometimes it’s hard to visualize a completely foreign lifestyle.
Bill lingered to hear how Katie would respond. Would it be Fritz, the oldest whose jaw is starting to pop out in a masculine way? Would it be Peter, the imp, who has a mischievous spark in his eye and cheeks that you just want to squeeze? Surely it wouldn’t be Billy, who is so close in age that they tend to be rivals more than friends.
After some pondering, Katie answered, “Well, my dad, I guess.”
Good girl! Good answer! All is right with the world if Daddy is the cutest “boy” in your life.
And I’m partial to him myself.