I Want to Raise Boys

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I want to raise boys,
rambunctious little boys.
Boys with scraped up knees
and bruised feelings that melt
into thin air at the touch
of an apology or a kind word.
They'll be tough,
rough and tumbling
through dirt and over couches
into the arms of those they love.
Running around with sticks and stones
in the woods location unknown
until they are sitting at the table
in front of hearty bowls of soup
and thick slices of bread with cold butter
ready to tell tall tales
of imaginary worlds
they conquered on a Tuesday.
I want to raise boys.
Boys who give the biggest hugs
the sloppiest kisses
and the hardest punches
straight to the nose
when deserved.
Boys who open doors
and lean out windows
with a glint in their eye
just to say hi as you walk by.
Who say thank you and please
or how can I help?
to friends and grocery store clerks
and little old ladies and mailmen
and other boys they don't need to impress.
Boys who think for themselves
but not much of themselves—
they may be quiet
but they will not be shy
or timid to say the things
that other boys may laugh at,
quick to sympathize
or simply let a tear be cried.
I want to raise boys,
boys who grow up to be men.
Men who know when it's time
to not be a boy any longer.