Snot & Boogers

What Tim doesn't get, honestly, is why people think it's disgusting. "I mean," he says, "they just go down your throat the backwards way anyway, so when they come out your nose, why shouldn't you recycle them? That's not gross, it's just natural."

Squeamishness is such a satisfying state of mind, but squeamlessness is more lucrative. Think dentistry. Sure, marketing managers get to wear Brooks Brothers and comprehend The Office, but do they make as much as Urologists? We may as well focus on the positives of squeamlessness, because Tim is what he is. Now and forever. And fortunately, we have, this very week, seen one of the brighter sides of this personality trait. Tim narrowly missed suspension (for a third incident of fighting on the playground) thanks to quick thinking plus the contents of his nostrils.

The problem was simple. A girl--a girl--challenged him to a fight. Never mind what for. Nobody seems to know. But we DO know that equality of the sexes means you pretty much have to fight all challengers, even the ones in eighties style ruffled micro-minis, and somehow refusing to fight a girl makes you even more than just the ordinary kind of chicken. As Tim earnestly explained, "I know I'm not supposed to fight girls, but I had no choice. It was an impeachment to my honor."

So, standing there on the playground nervously facing a girl, caught between the principal and at least a month without dessert on the one hand, and a lifetime of his classmates' scorn on the other, Tim needed a little miracle. Fortunately, this all happened on his birthday, and as he puts it, "I had a bit of birthday luck."

Just as the efficient machine of womanhood (this is second grade, remember, when the boys still lag behind the girls in both size and coordination) charged him, a brilliant thought occurred. Standing his ground, no doubt with that unholy and gleeful smile I love on his face, Tim quickly emptied the contents of his nose into his palms and held them straight out in front of his body. According to him, "It stopped her in her tracks!"

So much for Lorian, terror of the second grade. And if any of you wise guys have visions of explaining to Tim that "suspension" means a day off school ("This kid was so bad, we're going to give him a FREE VACATION!"), think again. Do it and I'll assign you to "office support duty" during the next playground incident crisis.

I noticed this summer when Tim visited Brett and Alison that suddenly Brett had all the great stories and I had none. I really am tremendously indebted to this creative, insightful, lovely child of mine. The ten minutes I spend tucking him in to bed are always richly repaid. I just hope that somehow, someway, I will be given the wisdom to help him connect with something that will lead him into the amazing adulthood he deserves. The fear that I may not be able to do it keeps me awake nights. I'm glad he has more than just me pulling for him.