3 Musketeers

We moved to a new town when my youngest son was 10 years old.  Fortunately, we already had friends who lived there, so we felt right at home almost immediately.  School started soon after and within days my son had made two best friends.  He was elated.  Two!  They both lived just a block or so away, and pretty much every day for the next 8 years those boys were at our house or he was at theirs.  We had the house with the pool and since I was a stay at home over protective mom--I preferred them to be with me where I could keep a close eye on them.

I called the boys the 3 Musketeers (maybe I should have called them the 3 stooges)--they were the type to get into all kinds of trouble and also the type to blame anybody and everybody for all their problems.  They routinely tormented my 2 older kids and were constantly being scolded.  I even gave one of them a nickname behind his back--I called him Eddie Haskell--from the old TV show Leave It To Beaver.  And boy, did he ever earn that name!  I think he alone was the instigator of their little trio, I would sometimes listen outside my son's bedroom door and hear Eddie concocting some type of shenanigan.  And then there was the other little one.  He was the one with the innocent little smile and the hot temper.  I overheard him one day yelling at his mother on the phone, he was back-talking and being completely disobedient.  I think I remember him even using a few swear words in there and he was probably only 11 or 12 at the time.  I sent him right home with a stiff warning to apologize to her and then afterward he could come back over and play.  He did it too.  He told her he was sorry and then he high-tailed it back to my house to tell me all about it, and to resume playing with the other kids.

I loved those boys, even in their ornery stage.  All 3 of them filled my heart with joy.  I was proud of them as I watched them grow up.  They each had their own set of difficulties (some big, some small) at home--sometimes I felt like their counselor, but all the time I felt like their mother.  I prayed for them every day, and still, do.

We moved again when my son was in his junior year of high school.  I know that it was tough for him to leave his friends.  However, I wonder if his friends ever knew that it was also hard for me to leave them?  Did they know that I began to worry about them the minute we pulled out of our driveway for the very last time?  Did they know that I would always pray for them?  I wondered--who would hold them accountable?  Who would be there for them?  Who would listen to them?

Fortunately for my son (and for me too), they came out to visit us several times. They were just as loud and cantankerous as ever, and I loved them just as much.  They came a few years later for my son's wedding, and they've come to visit since.  They are all married now and they all have children.  They have turned into loving husbands and fathers.  Twenty years have gone by.  They have all grown up.  And I feel like one proud mama!

I hope they know how proud I am of them.  I hope they know that I miss them.  And that I still pray for them every day.  And that now I also pray for their families.  I hope so.  I hope they can feel my prayers.

Those boys, those 3 musketeers.  They are my boys--all of them.