Why are there so many boys?

"Are you a girls' leader?"

The eighth grader who has been talking to me in a constant stream of words for the last fifteen minutes suddenly stops to peer at my name tag, as if he has come across some sort of bizarrely disturbing fact. 

"Yes."

"Then, why are there always so many boys around?"

He twists his face into a comically exaggerated question, first glancing at the few who are clustered near me on the edge of the stage and then out at several more playing dodgeball. Picking "mine" out of the crowd with a laser like accuracy.

We've talked about everything from his current school to his elementary school to the fact that my sister is getting married, but this is the one thing that befuddles him. Why are there always so many boys around?

And, I almost turn the question back around on him, the eighth grader who is standing in front of me because his seat beside me was taken over by a sixth grade boy when he left to get a drink of water. "I don't know; why are there always so many boys around?"

But, I know that he'll tell me that his camp counselor isn't here, so he "doesn't have anyone else to talk to."

We've talked about it already.

As if the gym isn't swarming with other leaders who would be more than happy to talk to him. It's the Sunday after Christmas. We're across the parking lot from where we normally meet. We have maybe a third of the students - but almost all of the leaders. Better ratios than anywhere outside of camp or discipleship groups.

There are plenty of people to talk to. But, not the one or two that he tends to follow around like an eager puppy.

"Because, I've known a lot of these kids since they were in elementary school."

"Oh." He nods.

And, the conversation being with this particular kid, it continues with more words than I would be likely to get out of some of the boys in a month, but the gist of it is that there are always kids around. That today, even outside of their normal space, is no different.

Boys who call my name just so that we can pull faces at each other from across the gym. Who peg me with dodge balls, borrow my phone, and beg me for gum before the lesson. Who sit almost quietly for most of the talk.

Girls who sit to talk about friends and life, help me clean up at the end of the morning, and challenge the boys to play them one on one at the basketball hoop. Who don't mind my pitiful attempts to hit a giant volleyball and who long ago quit asking why there are always boys - if they ever thought to ask in the first place.

Kids who simply happen to share the fact that, at some point, they hung around me for long enough to decide that they thought it was a positive experience.

Kids who play sports like breathing. Kids who avoid them like the plague. Kids who always have the right answer and kids who just say whatever words pop into their heads. Top of the middle school heap. Bottom of the totem pole. And, everything in between.

The ones who wiggle and squirm and talk and run wild.

The ones who text me mid week. The ones who tag me on Inst*gram. The ones who keep me up at night praying for them. And, the ones who hone in like a missile whenever they see me.

These are "mine," this odd little combination of people who keep me always on my toes, by doing things like this, when ones who don't normally have my password get their hands on my unlocked phone.

(Yes. My sisters really are just as … unique as my kids. The conversation only stops where it does because he passed my phone back to me ding the lesson.)

(Yes. My sisters really are just as unique as my kids. The conversation only stops where it does because he passed my phone back to me during the lesson. The kids aren't the only ones who keep me well versed in the art of strangeness.)