You see, it’s not all about play. Each Thursday Boy is expected to participate in some form of community service. Through those experiences, the kids earn the next level of cap – first blue, then red and then black. With each level comes more privileges combined with more responsibility.

For my son, earning the coveted “Thursday Boy of the Year” will be a memory that will remain for a lifetime. He removed all of his other trophies that have lived on his shelf and replaced them with his Thursday Boy of the Year Trophy. I think he knew that the other trophies were not given to him because of something he earned. Those trophies were handed to every kid on the team regardless if they showed up to practice or hit a home run. But the Thursday Boy of the Year trophy was awarded specifically to Colton for his leadership, sportsmanship, and compassion. Colton got the trophy not for just showing up – but for picking up the trash in the park, volunteering at the nursing home, tutoring younger kids, and raising his hand every time help was needed.

The trophy is big and blue with silver plastic accents made to look like metal. It’s not something that is easy to decorate around. Still, I hope that someday when he is grown and married – his wife will keep one trophy off of the top shelf of the closet and find a place to display his Thursday Boy of the Year – even if it clashes with the couch!

I did, however, have an imaginary horse named Bozo. He was a brown and white paint and I would ride him every day. For years, my mother thought there was something wrong with my leg. Not wanting me to be aware of my difference, she secretly consulted with doctors about my strange gait. Finally, she insisted on x-rays to make sure my spine was not curved. When the results were negative, she sat down with me and informed me that I ran with a limp. “Of course I do Mommy! I’m riding my horse!”

I had forgotten about this story until I saw my youngest, age three, limping around the back yard. “What are you doing?” I ask. He stopped and looked at me and said, “I’m riding Old Paint”. Yes, it’s true; not only does my little boy have an imaginary horse, but a Paint Horse to be exact. Neither of my children had ever heard me talk about my pony, yet somehow Bozo spawned a new generation of imaginary horses. The only difference is that Old Paint lives in my son’s pocket until he’s ready for a ride.

Luke got my blue eyes and my flair for the dramatic. Who would have thought that imaginary horses are also genetic!

Luke: Mommy, have you ever had a Chocolate Leaf?

Me: You mean from a Chocolate Tree?

Luke: Of course!

Me: No, but I bet they’re yummy! Do you pick the chocolate leaves from the tree or do you eat the ones that have fallen on the ground.

Luke: Mainly the ones on the ground. The ones in the tree are hard to reach.

Me: Are the branches made out of Chocolate Covered Pretzels?

Luke: Yes, they are yummy to, but you can’t eat too many.

Me: Why? Will you get a tummy ache?

Luke: No silly, the tree will fall down!

“But mommy,” she replied, “I think rainbows and ice cream cones match perfectly!”

My friend couldn’t argue. Because in a child’s world – there simply isn’t a more perfect combination.

“What’s that spell, sweetheart?”

“Candy,” he whispers, and actually rolls his eyes a little at me.

I don’t care. He is so L-M-R-T, and that spells CUTE to me.

The kids lined up and serenaded their families with favorite camp songs. That’s when little brother started to whine. After all, he wanted to stand in front and get a little of that lime light that his brother was hogging. Finally, the songs ended and Colton invited Luke to sit next to him on the floor with the other big kids.

The Awards Ceremony began. Each child was honored. There was the “Best Canoe-er” Award, the “Most Muddy” Award and the “Loudest Screamer” Award (given to a child that shouted “AWESOME!!!” at an ear-shattering pitch when his name was called). Each child was recognized and each walked away with their certificate in hand.

The last award of the evening was called the “Broken Arrow” award. A camp counselor told a story about the tradition of the “Broken Arrow” and its importance through the years. The campers selected the winner by voting on who was deserving of such an honor. Traits such as honesty, loyalty, friendship and leadership needed to be considered when casting their vote. I was more than thrilled when they called my son’s name as the winner. My pride started to well and I could feel the eyes of the other envious parents on me.

Humility hit with a vengeance when my youngest completely fell apart. As my oldest went to receive his award, Luke wailed “I want a big pencil!!” Colton looked back and whispered through gritted teeth, “It’s not a pencil, it’s an arrow!” Luke responded with, “I want a big arrow pencil!!” As part of the ritual, they ceremoniously broke the arrow before handing it to Colton. That did it. Luke fell to the floor screaming, “They broke Bubba’s arrow pencil! They broke Bubba’s arrow pencil”.

I dragged him outside so he would no longer upstage his older brother. I desperately searched for a stick or something to break as a substitute for the arrow. Believe it or not, standing in the great outdoors, no stick could be found. Eventually, older brother came outside and handed Luke half of his arrow as a sort of a peace offering . A generous gesture to say the least but I guess pretty typical of a “Broken Arrow” award winner.