I remember one time when Ben might have been as young as three but certainly no older than five, Abi, his next older sister brought home a new friend as she often did. (To this day, Abi makes new friends incredibly easy and prolifically.) I stood there and watched the whole thing and to this day I don’t know what prompted Ben, but Madeline, Abi’s little friend had not even made it inside the front door before Ben hauled off and hit her. And I don’t mean a little love tap either. This was a full wind up hay maker worthy of a Popeye cartoon episode.

Naturally I was horrified. All the more so because Madeline’s mom hadn’t yet left our driveway and witnessed the whole thing. (Did I mention that this might have been Madeline’s first visit ever to our house?) I stood Ben up in front of me as I sat on the couch and told Ben to apologize to Madeline. He stood stone statue eyes that he can still gets sometimes today simply answered, “I can’t.” Now this was not some accidental or carelessly articulated statement from Ben. No, he knew full well what he was saying and the possible consequences. At this point I don’t know what to do. I’m embarrassed by what he did. I’m frustrated that he won’t apologize. But already at that moment I’m incredibly proud of his integrity and backbone. I try to reason with him and he won’t budge.

I try threatening him saying that his punishment will be worse if he doesn’t apologize and nothing. So finally I apologize to the mom and assure her there will be consequences. I send her on her way and by this time Abi and Madeline are off playing somewhere. What was I to do? The typical corporal punishment at our house was three swats across the butt. With Ben, we’d already had to raise that bar to five. I think maybe this time that was upped to six or maybe even seven. Ben never wavers and continues to look through me with those smoldering eyes perhaps only a slightly more moist.

I don’t know where he gets it from. I don’t always understand his reasoning or motivations. Sometimes I think he couldn’t articulate them if he wanted to. But I will alway admire Ben’s resolve and commitment to his own principles. His willingness to follow the beat of his own drummer regardless of consequences. Even now in his peer pressured, conforming for group approval late teens, the kid in the 80s Volvo sedan with The Silver Surfer hood ornament remains largely his own man. I’ll always remember those two words in context, “I can’t.”