But you didn't say. . .

I'd have to say I've learned a lot being a mom of teenagers for the past few years. Probably more than I've taught the boys, sadly enough. We used to joke about all the rules we should've made, instead of the rule we did make. We don't joke about it anymore only because they would cover the walls by now, so it's pointless. I'm sure all of you parents of teenagers can relate to the general idea, if not the specific story. Here's a small sample of how those boys could outwit a justice of the Supreme Court.

When my brother loaned the boys his sparring gloves I made the rule that they could only box someone who was also wearing sparring gloves. I thought I had been very clever, and spoiled anyone's plans to hit an unsuspecting dorm brother. No such luck. The target for that specific year was a young man name "Jamie". He asked for it, I have to admit, but he also got it. A lot. Jamie was smart enough not to agree to box with the other boys, but they got around this by waiting until he fell asleep in the lobby, gently slipping a glove on his hand, then smacking him. It finally got to the point where they would just lay the glove on his lap, and then yell, "Jamie!" The poor boy would wake up, and if he saw a glove anywhere near him, scream and duck. Of course, I didn't find out about this until Jamie had left the school. (Not because of any sparring incidents.)

Stay tuned for more Tales from the Halls of Terror. If I wrote them all in this post it would be interminable. (The picture is not of Jamie. It's of one of our current boys with Zaya. They're boxing with the gloves we bought the boys for Christmas. Those gloves came with a page covered in rules. I don't presume to think I've covered every contingency this time, but just about.)