Chapter 5

Max Solomon met with Kyle, Penny, Mom, Dad and me in Dad’s office on Tuesday evening, a couple days after the Super Bowl.

“I bring an interesting commercial offer from Campbell’s Chunky Soup,” Max began. “Sharon, they would like to film you, Kyle and Andrew in a series of commercials selling their chunky line of soups this spring. They are offering $4.5 million a year for the three of you to do a five-year contract.”

“I’m hardly an actress,” Sharon protested. “I don’t know if I fit.”

“You’d do fine, Mom,” Kyle insisted. “You memorize a few lines, repeat them for the director while the film is rolling, and you’re done. What is the shooting schedule like, Max?”

“I don’t know if it’s that simple,” Sharon protested.

“Kyle is making it sound simple because it is,” I added. “I enjoyed the three commercials I shot out in St. Louis last summer. You can handle it.”

“They would like to do a two or three day shoot early in May,” Max said.

“Give it a shot, honey,” Dad added. “You may enjoy this.”

“You’ll do fine, Sharon,” Penny said. “Kyle dragged me into a couple of his commercials. It was kind of fun.”

“I can’t mess anything up for my boys, can I, Max?” Mom asked.

“Worst case the director will bring in an actress to play you,” Max answered. “You can’t harm your sons’ deal with Campbells.”

“The things I do for my sons,” Mom said as she stared at the ceiling. “Set it up, Max. I guess we find out if I have any acting skill at all.”

“I will contact Campbell’s ad agency and get the process started,” Max said. “I will have contracts for each of you in a week or two. Have your legal people look them over, sign them and I will get them back to the ad agency.”

“How are you faring with your second pregnancy, Penny?” Max asked after we finished our business.

“Not too bad,” Penny answered as she rubbed her big belly. “This little girl doesn’t kick nearly as often as her big brother.”

“When are you due?” Max asked.

“March 10th,” Penny answered.

“That is superior planning to when you had little Davey,” Max remarked. “Kyle should be home and ready to take care of you when your little one arrives.”

“Planning was involved,” Kyle teased. “Unlike with Davey.” My brother laughed. “I guess we can all be accused of poor planning when it comes to kids – Mom with Will; Dad and Mom with me; Andy with Noah and Connor; and Penny and me with Davey.”

“This will be your fourth grandchild, Sharon?” Max asked.

“Sixth,” Mom said. “You forgot about Will’s kids. Rose turned four last week. Danny is six months old next week.”

“You look too young to have six grandchildren,” Max commented.

“I am too young to have six grandchildren,” Mom replied. “I’m only forty-six.”

“And you look ten years younger than you actually are,” Max said.

We continued casually talking for another forty-five minutes. Max liked to get to know his clients and their families. It was one of the things that attracted all of us Max as an agent. He wanted us to concentrate on what he called our “big stones” in life – family and home. All the little stones – school, football, meetings, practices, Cub Scouts, swim team, and other million distractions we had in our lives needed to make way for the important things. It was a good philosophy to follow.

I met Miss Beiler, Connor’s first grade teacher, at the February PTO meeting. She reminded me about my promise last month to help with the class’ Valentine’s Day party, three days later. Thankfully, the party didn’t conflict with my classes down at Delaware. I promised to be there by 1:00 PM.

I received a rather frantic call from Miss Beiler on Friday morning, just before I was to leave for my work out over at Pro Train.

“I am in a terrible bind, Mr. Martin,” Miss Beiler explained. “I hope you can do me a huge favor.”

“I will help if I can,” I agreed.

“I went to the bakery over in Leola this morning before school to pick up the treats for the children’s party today. They lost my order!”

“That’s terrible,” I remarked.

“Can I impose on you to drive over to Leola and pick them up around noon today?” Miss Beiler asked. “The bakery is rushing to get our order filled this morning.”

“I would be happy to do it,” I agreed.

“Of course, I will reimburse you for the cupcakes when you get to school,” Miss Beiler added.

“Nonsense,” I retorted. “I know what second year schoolteachers make. It is a hell of a lot less than football players make. The cupcakes are my treat.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Miss Beiler protested.

“You didn’t ask me to,” I answered. “I volunteered. Relax and go take care of the kids. I have the treats covered for you this afternoon.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Martin,” Miss Beiler responded. “You are a true life-saver.” She gave me the address of the bakery in Leola where I was to pick up the treats.

“My pleasure,” I said. “I will see you at 1:00 PM with the cupcakes and the drink I already promised to bring.”

I headed over to Millersville for my workout and grabbed a quick lunch. I went to Leola and picked up the cupcakes. The baker was totally apologetic about losing Miss Beiler’s order. He gave us a 10% discount to make up for the extra trouble. I carried two big trays containing 72 cupcakes out to my car. I drove over to Belmont Road and the Paradise Elementary School, parking in the visitor’s section of the lot. Claire Gerlach was climbing out of her car when I arrived. She gave me a big smile and a wave.

“You’re helping with the party too, Andrew?” Claire asked.

“I am,” I confirmed.

“Do you need a hand carrying anything?” Claire asked.

“Sure,” I agreed. “I ended up picking up the cupcakes for this afternoon. I would love a hand.” Claire carried one tray of cupcakes inside while I followed with the other. We signed in at the office. The secretary directed us to the cafeteria, where the first graders’ party would be held. Three other moms joined us while we waited for direction.

Mrs. Herr, Noah’s and my first grade teacher, showed up a few minutes later and told us how she needed things set up. We went to work setting up and pouring drinks for the children. Mrs. Herr, Miss Beiler and Mrs. Reynolds, the other first grade teacher, brought the students around at 1:15 PM.

They listened to a Valentine’s Day story while they enjoyed cupcakes, juice and exchanging Valentines. The sugar rush from their snacks and the excitement of a party made the kids fidgety. The three teachers and five parents did our best to keep order for the twenty minutes allotted to the party. Both Noah and Connor gave me goodbye waves as they marched back to their classrooms.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Martin,” Miss Beiler remarked as the kids headed out of the cafeteria. “You saved our party.”

“It was my pleasure,” I responded. “I am happy to do anything I can to help.”

“I’ll keep you in mind when we go to the zoo in April,” she answered. “I’d love to have you chaperone the children.”

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you and the children,” I said. I gave the pretty, young teacher a good look. I definitely needed to ask the lady out AFTER Connor is finished with first grade. She looked gorgeous and had a great personality.

I received a big packet of information from the Rams the next day. It detailed many of the things I needed to know for our team’s move to Los Angeles. Phase 1 of our off-season training activities (OTAs) would be from April 18-29. This would consist of 2-3 hours a day workout with our training staff.

We would be working out at the training center the Dallas Cowboys used in Oxnard for their summer camp. The team would put up everyone participating in the OTAs in the adjoining hotel. The team would put everyone up for seven days a week from April 18 until June 16, when we completed our final mini camp. We would have a roommate. The hotel didn’t have enough rooms for 90 players, coaching staff and support staff to all have individual rooms.

I was assigned to share with Mike Keller, a second year linebacker from Nebraska. I am sure most of you have seen the EPSN video that has played umpteen times over the years showing my brother Kyle blasting into and blowing up Mike during an end-around play when Penn State beat Nebraska in 2012. It is so incongruous to see a “little” wide receiver blow up a linebacker. Despite how the play looks, Mike is an excellent linebacker and I consider him a good friend. Kyle had become friends with Mike too since that game.

Our summer training camp would be held in a temporary team complex that was being built in the Great Oaks area of Los Angeles. The team expected to have three outdoor practice fields ready and a prefab classroom building to house our weight room, training rooms, meeting rooms and offices for the team. The building would be temporary. A permanent home adjoining the temporary one was to be completed before 2018 OTAs. We would add on an indoor practice field in 2018 too.

The section in the document on moving was interesting. The team would line up realtors to help us unload our properties in St. Louis, or buy out the leases for those who rented, provide relators in LA to help find us new homes and then pay to move everything from St. Louis to LA for us. That included my car that I kept in St. Louis. I wouldn’t need to drive it cross country myself when I made the move. Realtor and moving assistance were for a limited time – from March 1, 2016 to July 28, 2016. If you didn’t get it done in that time frame, you were on your own.

This generous relocation package applied to all Rams employees who moved with the team. Players under contract, the coaching staff, the front office staff and scouting department had no choice. We were moving. The custodial staff, the culinary staff and the secretarial staff were welcome to move with the team and retain their current positions and take advantage of the generous move arrangements. They would receive a severance package if they chose to stay in St. Louis when the team left.

All in all, it was a most generous offer. I reviewed everything with Mom and Dad the night after it came. I had some work to do in the next few weeks to get my things on the way from St. Louis to LA. We decided a trip to see the LA realtors would be first. I thought renting an apartment for a year made more sense than buying another condo. You can see how buying the condo last year worked out.

The next step was listing my St. Louis condo on the market so I could unload it. I would need a week to fly to St. Louis, help the movers load up my place, then fly to LA and meet the movers when they brought everything into my new place.

Moving was going to be a pain in the neck but I would get to live in Los Angeles and enjoy the beautiful weather for six months of the year. That would be much nicer than the fog, snow, ice and tornadoes we had in Missouri.

Noah and Connor were super-excited the following Saturday afternoon as the three of us prepared for their first Blue and Gold Banquet. They especially loved me dressing in uniform to go with them to the dinner. Jim Stauffer, the out-going cubmaster gave me a “heads-up” that I would be leading a few cheers at the banquet. I came prepared with some of my summer camp favorites.

Noah, Connor and I joined Karl and Abby Sweigart and their sons Carter, Christopher and Conner. Carter was a Tiger Cub like my boys. Christopher would join next fall when he started first grade. Conner was 13 months old, so he had a few years before he would be a Cub. I smiled to myself when I realized Ron McMichael’s farsighted vision for the pack. He recruited Karl to be a leader, the man who would have sons in Cub Scouting for the next ten years. That’s long-term planning.

The pack held the banquet at Plain and Fancy near Intercourse. The restaurant served a nice family style meal. My boys loved their iced cinnamon bread. They tried the chow-chow (pickled vegetables) but decided they didn’t like them much. We never had anything like that at home.

I found a few minutes to catch up with Justin Baer before dinner started. Justin had been my high school position coach. He was there for his son, Wesley, who was a Wolf. His older son Billy was there too, dressed to impress in his Boy Scout field uniform. I knew Justin and Billy had moved on to Boy Scouts a few years ago. I hadn’t realized Justin was now the Scoutmaster of my old troop.

Each den put together gift baskets that the pack raffled off to raise money. I bought the boys $10 in tickets. The boys scurried around the banquet hall, debating the merits of the various baskets before dropping some of their tickets in the cans by each basket they favored. The 7:00 PM start of the evening program ended the raffle ticket drama.

Noah and Connor’s Tiger den was up first for awards. The boys earned a few more beads towards their Tiger awards. They wouldn’t complete the award until we did the outdoor segment in March. The Wolves, Bears and Webelos earned considerably more awards.

I led the pack in the Chip-Chop cheer for the Tigers when they received all their awards. The Wolves were recognized with the Bottle Rocket Cheer when they received all their badges, pins and arrowheads. I brought the house down with my cheer for the Bears.

I stood up front with my hands on my opposite shoulders. The elbows stuck in front of my face. I announced, “The Two-Thousand Pound Canary Cheer.” I opened and closed my elbows (beak) and announced in my deepest bass voice, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!” I led the rest of the pack in the cheer when they stopped laughing. Apparently, no one had done that cheer in quite a few years. Every Cub my age knew it ten to fifteen years ago.

Carter and Karl were still laughing when I took my place at our table again. “Where in the world did you learn that one? How am I ever going to learn these things before the next pack meeting?”

“That one was a cheer I knew from when I was a kid,” I explained. “Where are you going to learn? Google. I am sure you will find pages and pages of cheers if you google ‘Boy Scout Cheers’ on-line.”

“I don’t see how I can manage to do as well as you,” Karl replied.

“Be loud and boisterous. Accept that you are going to make a fool of yourself,” I counseled. “Revel in being the fool. The kids will eat it up.”

“I guess,” Karl allowed.

“Come up and do the next cheer with me,” I suggested. “The Webelos I den wants the Watermelon Cheer. You know that one.”

“OK, I will give it a try,” Karl said.

Karl and I waited through the Webelos I awards. Every boy in the den earned his Webelos badge and half a dozen activity pins. I motioned for Karl to follow me when the awards were done.

“Didn’t the Webelos I’s do a fantastic job with their awards?” I announced when I was up front. “They deserve a great cheer! Karl?”

Karl gave the audience a big grin and announced, “We’re going to do the Watermelon Cheer for the Webelos I’s.”

“No, actually we’re not,” I countered. Karl gave me the perplexed look I wanted. “That cheer isn’t good enough. We need something bigger and better! We’re going to do the Watermelon, Cantaloupe and Lemon Cheer.” I waved my hand towards Karl. “You do the Watermelon part, Mr. Sweigart.”

“Oh ... Kay,” Karl agreed. He pasted a smile on his face and announced, “Take your watermelon.” He held his arms up, about three feet apart like he was holding a huge slice of watermelon. I imitated Karl. He proceeded to suck up all the melon from his imaginary piece and then blubbered/slobbered as he spit out the mouthful of imaginary seeds. The whole pack followed along enthusiastically. The boys loved to make gross noises with the permission of the pack leaders.

“OK, now Mr. Martin,” Karl said. “You’re turn with the cantaloupe and lemon.” I saw pleading in his eyes. He had no idea what came next.

“Everybody take your cantaloupes,” I announced, holding two hands up like they were cradling a six-inch sphere. “Chomp ... chomp ... chomp ... chomp,” as I pretended to eat the imaginary fruit. I spit out the seeds “Ptooh ... Ptooh ... ptooh.”

I held the fictional lemon up on three fingers. “And now the lemon.” I slurped the fruit up and contorted my face into the sourest look imaginable. Karl and I took our seats to cheers and applause.

“You could have warned me you were changing it up,” Karl whispered as we headed for our seats.

“It’s fun to riff up there,” I countered. “You did great, Karl.”

Carter and Christopher agreed with me. They praised their dad’s performance. Noah and Connor congratulated me too, but with a little less enthusiasm. They were used Will, Kyle or me making fools of ourselves at Boy Scout camp.

Jon Miller did announcements before the last set of awards. The final announcement caught my boys’ attention. “Pack 312 is planning on attending Cub Camp on July 9th and 10th this summer. All cubs here tonight are eligible to attend camp. Cubs must be accompanied by a mom, dad, uncle, older responsible sibling or grandparent.” Jon continued talking about the fun the boys could have and the kinds of awards they could earn at camp. All the selling was unnecessary for my boys.

Both boys peppered me with, “Can we go, Daddy? Can we?”

“We’re Martins,” I answered. “Of course, you can go to camp and see Uncle Will, Aunt Abby and your cousins Rose and Danny. It’s what we do.”

“Can you come with us?” Connor asked.

“We want you to come with us,” Noah added.

“Football camp starts a couple weeks later,” I said. “Of course, I will come with you. I am looking forward to getting back to camp. It’s been too long since I stayed overnight.” Six and a half years – I didn’t need to tell the boys that they were why I stopped going to camp.

Ron McMichael took the microphone when Jon finished his announcements. “Tonight, represents a celebration of five years in Cub Scouts for our final den. We are awarding the Arrow of Light to ten boys and watching as they cross the bridge into Boy Scouts tonight. Our Cubmaster, Jim Stauffer, will be following his son Jamie across the bridge and becoming an assistant scoutmaster with Troop 312. We will miss you, Jim and Cheryl.”

Ron presented flowers to Cheryl Stauffer and a thank you gift to Jim. It was a box that measured about four inches square and fifteen inches high. “It’s a tie,” Ron proclaimed smugly.

“Yeah, and Jim is going to tie it on later tonight,” some wag near the back teased.

“Cheryl and I will save this ‘tie’ for an appropriate occasion, perhaps next weekend,” Jim replied.

“Jim left the pack well prepared for his departure,” Ron continued. “I want to introduce our new Cubmaster, Jon Miller. Jon, would you introduce your assistants.”

“Returning to Scouting after a six-year absence, I welcome Andrew Martin back,” Jon announced. “Andrew brings a wealth of experience to his job as assistant cubmaster. I walked to the front and shook hands with Jon. “Our second volunteer is new to Scouting this year. Please welcome Karl Sweigart, our other assistant cubmaster. Karl is new but willing and able to help this pack go and grow.”

Karl took position on Jon’s other side. They shook hands. All of us received cheers and applause from the audience. Undoubtedly many parents were relieved we took on the leadership task so they wouldn’t need to.

Jim Stauffer conducted the Arrow of Light ceremony before the boys crossed the rickety little bridge our pack had used since before I turned eleven and crossed the bridge a dozen years ago. Justin Baer awaited the new Boy Scouts on the far side with his son Billy, Brian Miller, Jon’s oldest son, and two scouts I didn’t know. One by one the boys received their Arrow of Light pin, crossed the bridge, removed their Cub Scout neckerchief and received a crimson Troop 312 neckerchief and green epaulets on their tan uniform shirt. The crowd gave the boys hearty applause and cheers to mark the five years they spent in Cubbing.

Noah and Connor were tired but still keyed up when we headed home at 8:45 PM. It was past their bedtime, but they were still wired at the prospect of going to summer camp in July. I managed to get the boys to bed without disturbing Hunter too much.

I came down Sunday morning and found myself in the middle of an “issue.” Noah was saying, “You’re too young to...” I gave my son a withering stare I learned from Mom. He stopped short immediately.

“But I want to go to Scout Camp!” Hunter insisted. “Noah and Conner get to go but I can’t. It’s not fair!”

“You aren’t a member of the Cub Scouts yet,” Dad explained. “You can’t go to Scout Camp until you are a member of the Cub Scouts.”

“How old do I need to be to join?” Hunter demanded. Dad looked to me.

“I think you need to be six or in first grade,” I said.

“You won’t be in first grade this summer,” Dad said. “That is why you will have to wait a little longer to go to camp. I promise you can go camp next summer.”

“But I will be six when July starts,” Hunter protested. “Why can’t I join Cub Scouts after my birthday and go to camp with Noah and Connor?”

“All the other boys in your class won’t start Cub Scouts until September, after school starts,” Dad said. “I don’t know if you can start early.”

“Andy, you are a leader,” Hunter persisted. “Can I join Cub Scouts in July after my birthday?”

“I’ve only been a leader since last night, Hunter,” I explained. “I don’t know.”

“Can you find out, Andy?” Hunter asked.

“I will,” I agreed. Dad gave me a subtle, disapproving look. I shrugged it off. I wasn’t going to lie to my brother. The truce about whether Hunter would accompany my boys to camp held while the boys ate breakfast. I knew the argument wasn’t over. Hunter could be willful and stubborn. He was determined to go to Scout Camp with his nephews and NOTHING was going to stop him.

Mom and Dad got me separated from the three boys a few minutes later. “Let’s not rush Hunter to grow up,” Mom said.

“Please find out that he has to wait until September to be a Cub,” Dad added. “I’m not ready to spend a weekend on those miserable army cots at camp yet.”

“You fool around and get your girl in trouble, you pay the consequences, old man,” I teased. “I know. I’ve been paying for mine for years.” Laughing, I added, “Anyway, Dad, the camp got rid of those army cots a decade ago. We have nice spring bunks with mattresses now.”

“That is a small comfort,” Dad groaned.

“You know that even if I find out Hunter can’t join Cub Scouts in July, he is going to be in pissy mood for the next four months if he can’t go to camp,” I suggested. “I will find out the joining requirements. I think the two of you better have a Plan B ready in case he can’t go to camp. Could you ask Will and Abby to take him the same weekend Noah, Connor and I are at camp? I’m sure Mr. Hollinger [the camp director] would allow him to hang out with Noah and Connor’s den and do the same activities.”

“That idea has merit,” Mom said. “I am not looking forward to telling Hunter he can’t go to camp.” Mom glanced around briefly to make sure no small ears were listening. “He is such a pain in the ass on Cub Scout nights. It is going to be a relief when he can join.”

Later that afternoon I spoke with Jon Miller. The Cub Scout joining requirements stated you must seven or in first grade to join. I gave Dad a heads-up. He spoke with Will and Abby before we broke the news to Hunter. My little brother was going to be a visitor at camp spending the weekend with his big brother and sister-in-law rather than being a Cub. Will would work on getting permission for Hunter to do the Cub activities. Worst case – he would have to spend the whole Saturday at the pool. There were far worse fates for water rats like my little brother.

The week after the Blue and Gold banquet, I came downstairs one weekday morning to find Connor complaining, “Mom-Mom, my tummy hurts. Do I have’ta go to school?”

Mom felt his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever,” she commented. “Let’s check your temperature.”

I felt his head while Mom was gone. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“My tummy hurts,” Connor repeated. “I don’t want’a go to school.”

Mom put the thermometer to Connor’s forehead. “98.2 degrees,” Mom said when the thermometer beeped. “Off to school, buddy.”

“But my tummy hurts,” Connor protested. It did no good. Mom sent him off to school.

The same thing happened on Wednesday morning and Thursday morning. Same result too – no temperature, go to school. Connor wasn’t his usual boisterous self at home either. I missed it, but Connor pulled the same thing again on Friday. I found out Friday evening when I got back from class at Delaware.

“What is going on with this boy?” Mom wondered to me.

“Again?” I responded. Both of us looked at Connor playing happily with his brother and young uncle, not a care in the world now. “What is happening at school?”

“I think you should get in touch with Miss Beiler and see if something at school is bothering Connor,” Mom suggested.

“I agree,” I said. “I will try to pry something out of Connor or Noah this weekend.”

“That’s a plan,” Mom agreed.

I tackled Conner after dinner. “How is everything at school?”

“OK,” Connor replied.

“No problems with Miss Beiler or any of your classmates?”

“Miss Beiler is great,” Connor said, smiling. His smile disappeared.

“How about your classmates?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” Connor stated. He seemed nervous now. “Everyone’s good. Nobody’s hit ... Everything is fine!”

“Nobody is hitting you?” I asked. I was shocked anyone would bother Connor, one of the biggest boys in the class.

“I’m fine, Dad,” Connor insisted. “Can I go play?”

“OK,” I agreed. I decided to attack the problem from another direction. I got Noah alone half an hour later.

“Is Connor having problems with a boy picking on him?” I asked. Noah squirmed and looked away before replying.

“No, it’s a...” Noah started. He stopped talking abruptly. “I have to tell the truth, right Daddy? That’s what the Cub Scout Oath says.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

“I need to keep my promises, right?” Noah asked.

“Of course,” I confirmed. “You promised your brother not to say anything about his problem at school?”

“I did,” Noah answered.

“How can Mom-Mom or I help Connor with his problem if you two won’t tell us what the problem is?” I asked. “Can Miss Beiler or Mrs. Herr help you boys with this?”

“They haven’t been able to yet,” Noah admitted.

“You and Connor talked to your teachers about this?”

“Connor talked to Miss Beiler,” Noah said.

“Thank you, Noah,” I said, dismissing my son. I sought out Mom immediately. “Noah and Connor let slip a little information about what Connor’s problem is at school. Someone, not a boy, is hitting him.”

“Not a boy?” Mom repeated. “Hitting him?” I nodded that she understood. Mom laughed. “Your son has a girl who likes him.”

“You’re joking,” I retorted. “She’s hitting him.”

“They are first graders,” Mom continued. “They haven’t developed the social skills to express their feelings very well. The little girl probably likes Connor and wants to get his attention.”

“It doesn’t seem like a good way to make friends,” I commented. “Hitting Connor doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Let’s bring him in and get to the bottom of this,” Mom said.

Connor was nervous when I brought him to the kitchen to talk with Mom and me. He knew we’d been snooping and asking questions about his problem at school. Mom was direct.

“What is the name of the girl who has been bothering you?” Mom asked. Connor turned a bright shade of pink from embarrassment.

“Nobody,” he protested while staring at the floor.

“Connor Allen!” Mom warned. She stared at the boy. “Look at me.” Connor reluctantly looked at Mom. “What is her name?”

“Lauren...” he stuttered. “Lauren Gerlach.”

“Have you done anything to make her mad?” Mom asked.

“I stay away from her,” Connor protested. “I don’t do anything with her.”

“Then what happens?” Mom asked.

“She’ll come over at recess and hit me,” Connor admitted. “What can I do about it? She’s a girl. I can’t hit her back.”

“You are not to hit anyone, boy or girl,” I said.

“I know,” Connor responded. “All the boys tease me about it. Why does Lauren hafta hit me?”

Mom smiled before responding. “I suspect Lauren likes you.” Connor gave Mom a confused look. “She hits you because she doesn’t know how a girl gets a boy’s attention.”

“She likes me [Connor]?” Connor and I asked almost simultaneously.

“She is six,” Mom explained. “She hasn’t learned how to tell a boy she thinks he’s cool and wants to be his friend.” Mom laughed. “I should know. I was six once.”

“What do I do to stop her from hitting me?” Connor asked.

“Go up to her and ask if she wants to be your friend,” Mom replied.

“That’s it?” Connor asked.

“That’s it,” Mom confirmed. Connor scampered off, much happier than I had seen him in days.