Responsible Rex

Macy and I have been commenting to each other what a change we've seen in Rex lately, since he's been in school. When Rex is laying around the house, he can be a bit of a menace, whining and needing a snack every few minutes, bored to death. The problem is, Rex is built for action, so keeping him stuffed up in a tiny house with two sisters napping is never a good idea.

That's why we were so looking forward to school for him. Since he's started, we've really seen him blossom. He's almost never grumpy, always has enthusiastic things to say about his school day, and dutifully sits down every night to do his reading. You know how sometimes you just see someone find a groove? That's what Rex is in right now.

And it's brought out a side of him we hadn't seen much of before. He's one of those really responsible kids. He stays away from kids who talk too much in class or break rules. He tries really hard to be good all the time in school. He was really excited when he earned an award at school-- one of eight kids in the whole school to be called down to the office to be given a prize for good behavior. Three weeks into kindergarten, I was shocked to hear him randomly reciting the whole Pledge of Allegiance from memory the other day. That's right, our son is learning the kind of conformity demanded of him by the soul-crushing, bureaucratic public school system. We couldn't be more proud.

Anyway, all of that came to mind this morning at breakfast. Context: A few weeks ago, Rex heard me telling Macy about my frustration with the fridge cleanout policies at work. It seems that a lady comes by the break room fridge occasionally and just tosses out everything that someone hasn't marked with their name on it. I've lost several valuable lunches this way, because I just can't remember to mark my name on the bag or box. Man that bugs me.

This morning I headed to work with a new box of burritos I'd bought at Costco, to stick in the break room freezer as quick and easy lunches. As I walked out the door, Rex came running after me with a sharpie in hand, yelling "Dad, you forgot to write your name!" The necessity of doing this was so far from my mind that I had no idea what he was talking about. "What?" I asked. "You need to write your name on your lunches or they'll throw them away." "Oh, yeah, thanks." I said, and set down the box for a second. Rex took the lid off and began to write my name, before realizing he might not be able to spell it. I said "my initials will be fine." So he wrote them on the box.

Today when I took out the box to get a burrito, there was that big block lettering spelling RBB, my special charm, forever warding off the evil fridge cleanout lady, conjured by five-year old Rex.

How my son got the mental resources to be able to make that mark, when I have already lost several lunches because I lack just that ability, I cannot say. All I know is that this is one responsible guy.