If the 42-year-old me could travel back in time and tell one thing to the eight-year-old me, it just might be this: don't be intimidated by boys. They're really gross and silly.
How do I know this? Because I spent an evening with AJ and four of his friends and listened to their conversations. (Never mind that this particular evening was more than 10 days ago. I just haven't had a chance to write about it. Or maybe I've been repressing the memories until now.)
For AJ's birthday, we took the boys to a Bulldogs hockey game.
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| L-R: Connor, AJ, Gino, Carter and Owen |
Five boys can be quite loud. And hyper. They talk a lot about poop and farts and burps and other bodily fluids and functions. In fact, when you tell them they need to talk about something, they run out of topics pretty quickly.
But they love hockey, and hockey players. Never mind that AJ had just gotten the autographs of nearly the entire team at the Skate with the Bulldogs event. He wanted autographs again. And so before the game started, AJ and friends got as close to the bench as they could, where they managed to catch the attention of Coach Scott Sandelin. The coach didn't seem overly thrilled to sign autographs, but did so anyways. And who knows, if any of these five realize their dream, he'll be doing his best to recruit them in a dozen years or so.
With the warm-up period over, the players exited the ice. No time for autographs, but at least a few gave high fives.
We headed to our seats, way up high, and the boys got loud and hyper again, and told jokes that apparently are really, really funny if you're an eight-year-old boy.
During the first intermission, we bought them ice cream. And they were at last quiet.
During the second intermission, we took them to the gift shop. And they used their giant fan fingers to pretend to pick each other's noses.
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