The best story told this holiday season has been about the time when we lived in Newcastleton. Son #3 was around 7 or 8 years old; the village was looking at its best with the main square set out with green lawns and leafy trees. Said son was beside his bicycle, which was propped up on a tree trunk. Apparently the tyres needed pumping up, and Son #3 had found the foot-pump from the boot of the car. He was busily engaged in the operation of fixing the pump to the tyre, and could be viewed easily from our house. His Granny and I were watching with interest.
He eventually got it all fitted together and, with great enthusiasm, he started to pump the air into the tyre. Things were going well when all of a sudden there was the most enormous Bang! One very startled little boy ran a good twenty metres away, then stood and stared back at the mangled tyre.
Needless to say, Granny and Mother were convulsed. And this has become a favourite family story.
I assume he shares the humor now as an adult. Priceless!
You’re right, Son #3 loves all the family stories about himself and all his brothers. That sounds as if there are hoards, actually there are only four sons, it’s just that sometimes they seemed a lot more!