The Irrepressible Number Three/Four

For our purposes, we shall call him Squeeky. He would never want his real name in here. Squeeky recently wrote an essay for a college class he is taking... though he is a junior in high school... about never putting any real information on a blog to protect yourself from trolls.

Where B-wreck is light and thin, Max is dark, furry and big enough to make you decide never to hit him if you can avoid it, Squeeky... the baby of the family is bigger than both and somewhere between in coloring. It was recently decided that he was officially the hairiest. Squeeky has a 'fro. His hair cannot be tamed. He pulls it into a pony tail that is not to be cool or in but keeps it under control. He knows that this is passe. His brothers have called him the Samoan. But don't get me wrong, he's not a fat big guy... he's a big guy.

There are so many aspects of Squeeky that it's hard to know where to begin or end. He is into computers like a true geek. Can build them from scratch. Can fix them. Creates parts. Amazes me. His best friend lives 50 miles away but they are constantly together online. He has friends all over the world online... which is great since we live in such a tiny place. (Pop. 1,300). He and my credit card spend a lot of money online.

He also has food issues. There are RULES that must be obeyed when it comes to food. Rules like meat cannot have a bone attached to it. It can no longer resemble what it used to be when alive. No chicken. No fish. No casseroles or food that touches each other. Food that touches by accident is fed to dog. He lost 15 pounds by giving up soda pop with sugar in it... tells you how much pop he drank. (Bad mom!) No fat is a rule. Squeeky will spend a half an hour removing any fat, connective tissue or suspicious anything from his meat portion. There is generally a pile of suspicious things as large as the part he eats. The only fast food he will consider is a Quizno's turkey sandwich.

Feeding him can be very difficult and was a real problem when he was younger because he would not eat the food other moms made. How can you spend the night at a friend's home or eat there if you won't eat the mom's food? His best friend's mom is the only exception to this day... because she understood and followed his rules. The woman keeps a jar of pickles for him.

Squeeky is sarcastic and snide. He has the ability to make that funny. When his dad is getting after him about something, Squeeky can crack the dad up with his sing-song deal about "I'm dad... I'm old and crabby..." Hard to transfer the spirit of it into text. Let me say this, as sarcastic and snide as he gets, you cannot stay mad at this kid. By the way, Squeeky is about to turn 17. His most valuable traits are an unfaltering loyalty to his family and his sense of justice.
One day, Squeeky will be a writer. He's already well on his way. Like all my sons, I am so proud of this one. A good person. A great son.

Son Two, Child Three

Max, my third child and second son, insisted that I use his real name... because he likes it. We also call him Swell (Max-Swell, get it?). Max is an enigma. I am not even sure how to describe him to you. He has a great, huge brain that collects everything it sees, hears or experiences. When there is something that cannot be recalled, the entire family asks Max... who can always recall the answer.
When he was three and and he and I were laying down for a nap, he was looking around. He turned to me and said "If we walked on the ceiling, how would we be able to reach the door knobs?" I had never noticed that the door knob is farther from the ceiling that it is from the floor. It was a good thinking question, especially for someone only three years old. That is what Max is... a thinker. A voracious reader. A chewer of information and a fun conversationalist for it. I can talk to Max all night if the mood strikes us.
If Max has a flaw, and who does not, it's his impatience with people who do not see things his way. Not that they disagree, but that they don't get what he is saying. He is fine with disagreement. Welcomes it and in fact loves a good debate in a non-angry spirit.

Max is now 21 and discovering the pub life. I have mixed emotions on this subject. I have seen more people lost to alcohol over the years than I have ever seen lost to drugs. Truth. But he is young and in Oregon, the pub life is about all there is to do in the small town we occupy. One has to have friends and friends have to have a place to gather. He has very interesting friends too.

My favorite memory of Max happened when he was about five years old. He was playing with a neighbor kid, who had whacked him on the head with a squirt gun. His sister and the neighbor boys brought him home to me... blood running from his hair, down his neck. I am a believer in the "calm mom" keeps fear at bay. So I acted as if a hole in his head was the most normal thing in the world and took him to the bathroom. Seated upon the counter with me snipping the hair from around the wound, I asked what happened. Max looked at me with his huge brown eyes, expressive as any hound dog's and said... "I've cracked my head open and now I'm going to die."