My Boys

I thought I should spend some time updating you on what is going on with the men here on 5jFarms.  They are in the minority so this is their time, their place. 

Will has been playing basketball since before Christmas.  He practices twice a week and has been having tournaments about every other Saturday. He's good.  He's the point guard.  I love watching him.

I don't know anything about basketball.  There are many things I don't know anything about -  football, rugby, lacrosse, sewing, calculus, cars, teenage girls, are just a few.  I could go on and on but my pride is telling me to stop.  

I'm learning that basketball is violent.  I grew up watching hockey. My brother Rob played, my dad referred.  I understand checking into the boards and the occasional tripping penalty or even slashing penalty. I've watched my brother take off his hockey gloves and start pounding another player.  His only excuse for getting involved in a fight on the ice was, "he dropped his gloves, I had to fight him."

Somehow that explanation kind of makes sense to me.

I'm not used to basketball.  There is no ice, no skates sharpened to perfection, no sticks, or even a hard rubber puck.  Basketball involves a bouncy ball, a little net, running shoes and a wooden floor. 

Basketball did this.  Someone tripped him from behind and he fit the floor chin first. 

Let me clarify. Someone tripped my baby from behind while he was running at top speed toward the basket and took him down.  There was no penalty.  No one had to sit off in the penalty box so my son's team could shoot an extra basket with a power play.  Nothing.  

 

Well, not exactly nothing.  For his bravery, he was rewarded with a trip to the emergency room followed by five stitches that he thought were pretty darn cool.  One more thing to add to my list of things I don't understand - boys thinking stitches are cool.

He is fine now.  His stitches are out.  He has a tournament tomorrow.  I'll be there watching, trying to figure out what the heck is going on and what each blow of the ref's whistle means.

Now for Farmer Boy.

Farmer Boy should be home in about an hour from the second week of his new job.  He's liking it.  He got certified this week to be an official commercial manure spreader.  It's a little more technical than that but all you need to know is that if you ever need help spreading manure, Farmer Boy's your man.  Officially.  Certifiably.

This picture was taken this summer but if I remember right I think he was telling a story.  Perhaps it would be better to say he was spreading manure.  Either way, he's certified.

Two weeks down and he is liking the job.  Change is good.  Learning a lot of new things is difficult but Farmer Boy is a quick learner. He likes his new pick-up (great for hauling you know what) and although I know he's still a little tentative about it all, I know he's going to do great things.  He's Farmer Boy.  It's what he does.

I think that's about it.  While I've been writing this, Will hollered from downstairs wanting to know what's cooking for supper.  Farmer Boy also just called and asked me the same question.  Here's one thing I actually understand - my boys expect me to cook supper, every night.

But here's one more thing I don't understand - I don't mind cooking for them.  I enjoy it.

Have a great weekend.