My two older children were amazing with Rowan — kind, gentle, patient. But outside of that? They were mini wrecking balls that shot fireballs. Their decision‑making skills were dumb‑ass stupid. No common sense required. They didn’t usually work together, which was probably the only thing that kept the county intact.
Avery was in a mood one day, and managing her took all my attention. Ben, needing attention of his own, found a way to get it — usually from the police. He lived right on the edge of illegal, pulling back just before consequences hit. But when he was angry, he didn’t care about the law. In our rural area, sheriffs were sparse and crime was minimal, so most offenses slid under the radar. Offenses like taking a shotgun to the stop sign at the end of the road. Why? I never found out.
The worst firearm fiasco came about six months later. Ben stormed out of the house, and speed was his coping skill. Every hunter carried their shotgun in the gun rack of their truck. The regulars carried them too — it was normal. Rolling without ammo? Unacceptable. You never knew when a deer might run out in front of you. The quantity of ammo wasn’t usually checked unless you got stopped.
That night, on a dark back road, he hit a curve too fast and lost control. He went off the road and hit a tree. Someone was watching over him, because he walked away uninjured. The truck wasn’t so lucky. The caved‑in engine caught fire. He ran as all the ammo inside the cab ignited and exploded. The truck was a total loss — the first of many speed‑related stunts.
He never again carried that much ammo in his truck.
That night never really ended for me. Even now, my heart drops into my stomach when I think about how close it came. How both of them made it to adulthood is beyond me. Maybe luck had a hand in it. Maybe stubbornness did. All I know is that loving kids like that meant living on the edge of disaster and learning, over and over again, how little control you really have.
My oldest, Ben, was a constant source of stress. He didn’t learn lessons — he expanded on them. Everything was an experiment. A “let’s do it, what could go wrong?” attitude. In hindsight, the answer was always the same: everything.
My two older children were amazing with Rowan — kind, gentle, patient. But outside of that? They were mini wrecking balls that shot fire. Their decision‑making skills were dumb‑ass stupid. No common sense required. They didn’t usually work together, which was probably the only thing that kept the county intact.
Avery was in a mood one day, and managing her took all my attention. Ben, needing attention of his own, found a way to get it — usually from the police. He lived right on the edge of illegal, pulling back just before consequences hit. But when he was angry, he didn’t care about the law. In our rural area, sheriffs were sparse and crime was minimal, so most offenses slid under the radar. Offenses like taking a shotgun to the stop sign at the end of the road. Why? I never found out.
The worst firearm fiasco came about six months later. Ben stormed out of the house, and speed was his coping skill. Every hunter carried their shotgun in the gun rack of their truck. The regulars carried them too — it was normal. Rolling without ammo? Unacceptable. You never knew when a deer might run out in front of you. The quantity of ammo wasn’t usually checked unless you got stopped.
That night, on a dark back road, he hit a curve too fast and lost control. He went off the road and hit a tree. Someone was watching over him, because he walked away uninjured. The truck wasn’t so lucky. The caved‑in engine caught fire. He ran as all the ammo inside the cab ignited and exploded. The truck was a total loss — the first of many speed‑related stunts.
He never again carried that much ammo in his truck.
That night never really ended for me. Even now, my heart drops into my stomach when I think about how close it came. How both of them made it to adulthood is beyond me. Maybe luck had a hand in it. Maybe stubbornness did. All I know is that loving kids like that meant living on the edge of disaster and learning, over and over again, how little control you really have.
Still standing, the mother of the boy who outran common sense,
K.
