I’ve tried to start this
I went to the eye

The boys have been going

The boys have been going to Hope School for two months now. They’re doing very well. Tre took to it right away with characteristic purpose and good spirits. Today, when I asked how school went he replied with a hearty, “Great! I had a great day! In Art we learned how to draw Peter the Pumpkin Eater.” Max, true to form, took a while to warm up to it. The first few weeks he wasn’t sure he really wanted to go back. Then he said he wanted to go, but come home at lunch. Finally, today, when I asked him how his day was he answered, “It was GREAT. I liked everything about today.”
Raphael is the only one who doesn’t care for this whole school idea too much. He’s ok for the first half of the day, when he’s with my friend Heather, torturing her daughter Iona. That’s good clean fun. But when I come to get him at noon, he immediately wants to go get “da boys.” Enough playing around, it’s time for his brothers to come home.
Today, when I picked him up, he raced down the stairs and hopped in his car seat and announced, “We go get da boys now.”
“No, honey,” I said, “it’s not time to get the boys yet. Let’s go have lunch.” He sighed at my obstinacy and declined to respond to my inane suggestion of lunch. He did cheer up somewhat when I got him a cheeseburger, especially when I let him drink one of those disgusting Kool-aid squeeze bottles of toxic juice with it. That’s always good. We sat at the table, just Mama and son, enjoying our Sonic goodies. We shared ketchup and counted fries. It was good. He ate at least two tablespoons of food, and pushed the remainder away. “Ok, we go get da boys now.”
You may be getting a sense of what the rest of my afternoon was like. Finally, finally, the hour arrived. I sang out excitedly, “Hey, Raphi! Let’s go get the boys!” His eyes lit up, and he jumped down from the couch. “Well…OK! Ah can hop in!” And he trucked off to hop in (his car seat that is). The whole way to the school he chattered about da boys. “Ah can hug dem and git dem and tell dem ‘ah miss you’ and hug dem…”
We arrived and parked and Raphael was straining at his car seat. “Wet me OUT! Ah git da BOYS!” We hustled in, only to be forced to wait outside Max’s classroom for a torturous three minutes. But finally the door opened, and Max came bouncing out. Raphael rushed up to him, shrieking, “Hi, Mats! Mats! Hi!”
And then he punched him in the stomach.
Not too hard, because Max laughed and patted his head. “Hi, Raphi. Did you miss me?” Raphael turned on his heel and crossed his arms. “No. Ah’m Shooperman.” He looked at me. “Can ah go punch Twe?”
I said no, but he did anyhow.

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