When we moved into our current house, we moved next door to a boy. He’s an only child, and we share part of our long driveway with him and his mother.
The boy next door, whom I’ll call Theo, was nine years old at the time – a year older than my eldest daughter. The first time we met Theo was the day we took possession of our house: He and his mother joined us for pizza on our lawn, since we had no furniture in the house. My girls were so loud, and there were so many of them; I was certain that they’d overwhelm Theo. On top of that, my oldest daughters had recently picked up the sort of “girls rule, boys drool,” attitude that seems to predominate early elementary school culture.
In short: I couldn’t imagine much of a future for Theo and my daughters.
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