My son turned eight last week. The only thing he wanted, besides a remote control car, was a new bike. After eight years of hand-me-downs from Big Sis, we agreed. It was time to give the kid what he deserved.
Today we went to the bike shop to try out a few models. My son (and the sales lady) pressured me so much that I broke down and bought 'the silver one' on the spot to the accompaniment of Big Sis' tisking and huffing.
"21 gears? The thing has 21 gears?" She crossed her arms and dropped her lip dangerously close to the ground. As we waited for the new bike to be checked over, she revealed her dismay.
"You have wounded my honor," she said solemnly, placing her hand upon her heart. Earlier this morning in the shoe store, she complained that Little Brother was getting an extra set of shoes and why on Earth were we not getting her the boots she doesn't really need but reallyreallyreally wants?
I began listing all the things we had given her in the past three weeks: hundreds of dollars worth of new clothing, new shoes, a horse to ride for free, a trip to the United States (and, serendipitously, even a direct flight back on her favorite airline)! She is ten, and she has a favorite airline. Need I say more?
Standing at the bike shop, I shot her a look of warning.
"You want me to list again? Don't make me list, young lady!"
She cowered, then softened when we got home. They got to watch Spirit, one of their all-time favorite movies. Now, if only she would see the spirit in which her parents handle things. That would be most honorable!
