Youngest son: “Just going through my Pokémon cards.”
Ah, Pokémon. He’s been collecting them since he could talk. Many a Pokémon playing cards have been stuffed into Christmas stockings, wrapped neatly as birthday presents, or presented as a congratulatory “Hey I know spelling isn’t your best subject, but you got 7 out of 10, right? Nice!”
“See,” he tells me, “THIS one is rare. It’s really cool. “
I nod (I’m the Mom. I do that whether or not I completely understand the whole collecting-cards thing.)
“THIS is my favorite. It’s when they use to draw Pikachu, chubby.”
He gets quiet as he carefully slips each card into a plastic sleeve, as collectors do when they’re handling something valuable.
“You know, Mom. I have this friend at school,” he says thoughtfully, as he carefully selects and wraps each card. “His Mom died.”
OK, I didn’t expect him to say that.
“He has a little brother.”
Now I don’t know what to say. I nod. (See earlier comment.)
“His little brother is really ‘into’ Pokémon, right now. He loves it,” he says.
I reply, “OK.”
“I think I’m going to give my friend my Pokémon cards. I don’t play with them a lot, anymore. He can play with his little brother,” he nods as if making a firm decision. “Mom?”
“Your eyes are watering.”
“Yes,” I say, smiling broadly.
This has been an actual conversation in the Man Cave. What’s the Man Cave? Read this.