PHILIP SAID WHAT?

It was a beautiful afternoon, springtime in North Florida, when I noticed out the kitchen window that Philip was playing with a bat. Even as a young child he was enthralled by sports and sports equipment, but this time, he was dangerously close to his sister, Kara. I was afraid that we were looking at a knot on the head, if not stitches. Perhaps he would wound himself, but more likely, it would be her. His youth, 4 years or so, had not given him the skill to handle a very big bat.


My immediate response was to get the bat out of his hand. I commissioned older brother, Paul, standing nearer the back door than I, to diffuse the situation by taking the bat away. I never thought about the fact that an 11 year old would not be so gentle or kind in removing the weapon, but would, in fact, use his superior size and strength to snatch it away without explanation.

That’s exactly what he did and Philip was obviously not pleased. In his anger I saw him kick an empty box repeatedly and I heard him saying the worst word in his vocabulary. He would need to be disciplined by me, but I first had to get control of my laughter. He knew it was a word we had told him not to say. My 4 year old was cursing as he continually kicked the box. It was an awful word and we had corrected him before, but in his anger, he just had to say it – not once, but several times. “Pooty, pooty, pooty!!”