Two ornery boys.  15 months apart.  God help my soul.

Yesterday I was at Pay-Less (which, might I add is known as Kroger everywhere else but here in our world it’s called Pay-Less.  Let me tell you that this is the biggest misnomer I’ve ever seen because you certainly do not pay less at Pay-Less.  Excuse me.  Needed to get that off my chest.)  grabbing just a few things that I needed to make the scrumptious Buffalo Chicken Sandwiches. Yes.  Again.

I also picked up a set of Colts plates, napkins, and cups because, well,  they are in the Super Bowl on Sunday and I thought it would be fun to have for our friends coming over tomorrow night.

Holding four bottles of buffalo sauce, plates, napkins, cups and one PowerBar (I was starvin’ Marvin, for sure),  I stood behind a young college student who was one darling boy.

I live in a Big Ten college town.  There are loads and loads of students around us at all times.  Living five minutes from Purdue, I have accepted this as a reality and actually, most of the time, I enjoy it.

They usually just ignore us locals and go on their merry way slapping each other on the back and calling one another “Dude” while adjusting themselves.  The girls are usually clad in Uggs and carting cell phones.  Hair in ponytails and “Oh my goshes” all around.

It’s OK.  I was one of them about 16 (large inward sigh) years ago.

As I stood clutching my goods, this young college boy said, in the cutest southern drawl I may add, “Ma’am.  You sure have your hands full.  Please go ahead of me.”


So I did and thanked him profusely for his kindness.  Then I realized that while I had my purse, I did not have my wallet.   Might be problematic when it was time to actually pay for my items.

I looked at the sweet boy (don’t I just sound like Great Aunt Joan?) and said “Looks like you are going to be able to go ahead of me after all because my wallet is in my car and I have to go back out and get it.”

To which the sweetie pie replied “Oh, ma’am. I’m so sorry.  If I had enough in my account I would buy them for you.”


I went out and got my wallet.  My sauce and paper goods were purchased.  I thanked the sweetie pie again.

I watched him walk out of Pay-Less and thought, “That’s it.”

That’s how I want my boys to be.

I don’t really care if they are the smartest in the class or the most athletic or the most of anything.

I want them to be gentlemen.  I want them to call women “ma’am”, men “sir”, and open car doors for their dates or me or their sister or their grandmothers.

I want them to pull out the chairs of women they are dining with.  I want them to wait for her while she gets out of the car and walk with her side-by-side.

I want them to protect women.  But most of all, I want them to respect women.  And I really want them to do it even when no one is around to watch because it’s the right thing to do.

I have been told that boys who are respectful towards women most likely had a mother who showed them how to do so and didn’t let them get by with a sassy mouth and other disrespectful behaviors.

Watch out, Sawyer and Solomon.  Sorry about your luck.  You’ll thank me one day.  I promise.

If I had known that sweetie pie’s mom, I would have called her and told her what a gem she raised.

How proud she must be to know she did her job well because I suspect that when she looks into the eyes of this young man, she knows she succeeded.

And she did.

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