A couple weeks ago, a local church held its annual fall picnic. So, on a sunny autumn day, my husband, Younger, and I stood in the line that threaded through the surrounding church grounds. I was totally minding my own business when, without warning, I was jerked rudely from my people-watching by Younger trying to knock the stuffing from my arm.
A little stunned and a lot confused, I glanced first at my arm then my sixteen-year-old son, my mouth hanging slightly open.
He stared back at me with wide eyes.
Then after the beat of a few seconds, he offered, “Fly.”
“Fly?” I squeaked, rubbing my triceps.
“There was a fly,” he confirmed, nodding his head for emphasis. “A big one.”
So, now, I randomly smack the back of his head with my palm and announce, “Fly. A big one.”
All families show love in their own special ways.
We show ours by swatting flies.
And we love each other so much that sometimes we even imagine flies just so we can express those finer feelings.
We do what we gotta do.