The boys didn’t mean to be mean. They were just being boys. But they were mean. And because she was just a girl, it hurt.
We sat together on the bed, hugging.
“They were only teasing you,” I whispered into her hair. “They love you like crazy — you know that.”
But she sniffled and quivered in my arms until I wanted to cry too.
Because I know just how she feels. I used to be that girl. I still am that girl. With feelings, darn it, and why do those boys have to be so clueless sometimes about how to handle them?
I visited the boys in their room and strongly suggested an apology. They complied. Because boys are easy like that.
“I apologize,” they nobly announced one after another, each bowing gallantly before leaving the room.
Then it was back to push up contests and wrestling matches for some and back to Little House books and sewing sashes for others.
I stood between the two rooms for just a moment longer — feeling empathy for the girl side and more appreciation for the boy side than I ever would have imagined possible years ago. And being grateful for the privilege.