Boys in Packs

A perk of writing from home is being here when my son comes home from half-days of school with his high school friends.  I’m usually in the other room, out of the fray, but I like to pop into the kitchen to say “Hi!”  It’s not a bad idea to know who is in my house.

I can’t help noticing certain things about teenage boys in packs:

They tend buy provisions on the way over in case the house is short on key foodstuffs: grape pop, root beer, ramen noodles and chips.

They eat before they do anything else.

They’re happy to share with me.

They have a special predilection for the orange-hued food group: Clementines, Mac ‘n’ Cheese, Bar-b-Cue chips, and Cheetos.

They’re friendly and polite.

They will rearrange furniture to clear space to play Risk on the floor, and then play for a very long time.

They like to pack into small rooms.

They’re loud.

They don’t mind closing the doors so their noise doesn’t distract me.

Some of them wear knit hats indoors on warm days.

They never wear coats.

They talk a lot, all at once.

Some of them have wild hair, and others sport different facial hair from week to week.

Their shoes are unbelievably large and they pile them in masses by the door.

They bring their own computers so they can all play computer games at once.

They sing.

They like a new Frisbee.

They like to play ping pong.

They leave the stove on after they make Mac ‘n’ Cheese.

They spontaneously clear their dishes.

They argue.

They have a private language of common, insular references and scatological humor.

They laugh a lot.

They leave things behind when they go: sweatshirts, phones, and sports bottles.

But I don’t mind.

I know they’ll be back.