I never want to be nine again

I’m glad to be on this side of third grade.

Our youngest, Johnny, is nine. Theoretically a kid’s tenth year should be full of pocket knives and puppy dog tails. It should include hours of bike riding and Popsicles, tree forts and video games. Who wouldn’t want to be nine?

But today’s nine-year-old is nothing like the ones I grew up with. Life is hard for kids right now and there’s not a whole lot we can do about it.

Take homework for instance. The poor boy comes home with at least 30 minutes of homework a night. Add to that 25 minutes at the piano, a few chores, scouts and whoops! There goes his childhood.

As much as I’d like to torch his homework sheets I recognize that whether we agree with them or not they must be done. He might be nine, but personal accountability has got to come into play sometime.

“But Mom,” he said to me in the car last week, “Who cares? Why do I have to do this stupid homework anyway?”

“Because,” I said, “People who don’t learn to do their homework in third grade grow up and you know what happens? They get fired because they never learned how to finish anything. Without a job they have no money, and if they don’t have money they don’t have a house or food. And you know where they end up living?”

He was pretty captivated at this point and gave me an open mouthed, “Where?”

“They live in a box. And it’s cold and it’s soggy and they’re hungry all the time. Do you want to live in a box?”

“No…”

“Then finish your spelling!”

As much as I’d like to knock something out of his schedule there’s no doubt that it’s all adding to his personal development. Lately tether ball has become somewhat of a staple in the life of this nine year old.  I've even found myself using it as leverage; fair or not, it is what it is.

The other evening I watched a particularly brutal match up and quietly approached Aaron afterwards.  "Honey, do you have to be so tough on him?  Can't you let him win once in a while?"

"No," he said, "Because the day he finally beats me is the day he'll remember for the rest of his life.  This is good for him, does it look like he's complaining?"  I looked over and watched Johnny setting up a rematch, shrugged and left it alone.

The two of them have been playing on and off for the past two weeks and Saturday, for the first time, Johnny won. When he realized it he practically cartwheeled his way through the house. “I won! Mom, I beat Dad!”

I guess being nine might be hard, but it isn’t without its rewards.