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I had a rummage sale at my house this past weekend. I’m not sure why I ever agree to do anything like that. The whole situation creeps me out. As vocal as I am about my opinions, I’m actually very introverted. I don’t like special attention or focus, at least not to my face. So strangers coming into my driveway and asking me about my personal life, which I obviously willingly put on display for them to ask about, ends up being a sickly, ironic act of torture for me. All in all, the day turned out okay. I wasn’t particularly offended by anything particular, and the weather was freakishly beautiful. My favorite part of the whole day, however, had to be watching my son operate his koolaid stand.

My boy is beautiful, as I mention often, but I really mean it. The kid is meant for fame of some sort. Observing him schmooze the masses into his slick little tent to take their money was fascinating. Shirtless, wearing board shorts and flip flops, shaggy, honey-blond hair hanging in his blue eyes, he would (even though it killed me) approach anyone getting out of a vehicle and ask, “Do you want some juice and a cookie?” Most people, charmed immediately, accepted or handed him a  dollar with a “No thank you.” Some others, who obviously have no children and/or souls, would brush him off with a “Not right now.” To those “Not right now”-ers, he’d give them a minute, a literal minute, follow them in true puppy dog style as they perused my goods, and ask, “How about now?”
As irritating as that might seem, he obviously knows what he’s doing. The little stinker made himself over $60 at our garage sale. I was proud of him. I am proud of him. Just a few years ago, as readers may remember, I had column upon column relating to his behavior. Since he was booted from several daycares and a tyrant in his own right, I was terrified by the idea of actual school, of actual kindergarten! I couldn’t compute in my brain how he was going to get through it. He’s smart beyond measure, but authority has never been among his favorites. Yet, here we are, and this week, he’s graduating kindergarten with flying colors. He rocked kindergarten. He made friends, he reads, he knows (kinda-sorta) what day of the week it is. He’s my baby—he’s growing up.

When I went to write my column for this week, my intention was to lash out. In fact, the topic of choice had been on my mind for days, forming into what I thought was exactly what I was going to write. I’ve been really irritated by the East High School vandalism that took place a few weeks ago. Students—I assume—went to that beautiful new building that we had no choice in building and vandalized it to extreme measure. Toilet paper in the trees, whatever, but eggs and spray paint? Sexual images depicted into the parking lot? Swear words and rival high school students’ names written out in plain (well, stupid-person plain) English? Gross! It made total sense to me when Bill Gronseth and other school and city officials stated that it wasn’t going to be taken as a prank, it was vandalism and was felony-worthy.  Then, a few days later, Mr. Gronseth decided publicly that basically the act  of vandalism sucked, but bygones are bygones and we don’t need to do anything drastic. Excuse me? Oh my goodness, I was so mad! My first thoughts were only this: to what parents did these punks belong? It felt to me, still sort of feels to me, that the students responsible ended up being the offspring of some people important in Duluth, and punishing them would have made Bill Gronseth an enemy of these “important” people. As a non-elected, interim official, he’s not going to tread in those waters. Therefore, bygones and community service, slap on wrist, and the case is closed.

That’s how I felt. I still feel that way. BUT, as a parent of a boy who could at some point, some day be possibly, maybe, but hopefully not, capable of such “trickery,” I’ve softened over the issue. Watching my son this weekend, knowing that for all intents and purposes he really does mean well, I guess if that were my kid, I’d want it chalked up to a learning experience, too. Either that or me and him, bandanas and sunglasses, would be headed for the border. Teenagers can be so nasty. We all know it’s true, and believe me that I say it in total love because I was among the worst at that age. But at the end of the day, teenagers are just kids. Bigger kids, but kids all the same.  At first, looking at the whole vandalism situation I was seeing it as though an adult had committed this. Someone who truly knows, as I know now, what actions lead to what consequences and had to know better. And while I still think these kids somewhere deep down knew better, they are just too young to listen to that reason yet. They will eventually, hopefully, look back on that day and know how stupid it was. I think they will. So for once—deeeeeeep breath—I agree with an action this city took. Give them a break. Punish them, but keep in mind the act was surface, it wasn’t physical, and no one was hurt. Make them suffer, but don’t make them pay forever.

It’s never a parent’s greatest wish for their kids to get into trouble. Yet, with my son, already I have learned this: some of them will get into trouble. Some of them will break rules and some of them will pay for those actions. As a mom of one of the naughtiest kids in the neighborhood, I’ll tell you this: he’s going to learn from his mistakes. It’s my job to see that he does, and it doesn’t hurt if the community lends a hand in that once in a while. Every kid deserves a second chance (or more....). If I didn’t believe that, then I wouldn’t be so happy today to be attending kindergarten graduation tomorrow.