Intense

My oldest has an intense personality.  He is sweet as sugar, but he can become so obsessed with things.  I like to call it passion.  He has been passionate about cowboys for some time now.  Tweetsie  Railroad was like stepping into Sam's perfect world.  An old western town complete with a jail and horses to climb on.  When he walked into the gift shop, he froze, staring at the walls that were overflowing with tomahawks, guns and coon skin caps.  He ran over to the toy rifles and began belting out, "Born on a mountaintop in Tennessee..."  And he sang the entire ballad of Davy Crockett.  At the top of his lungs.  He wasn't bothered in the least that there were complete strangers in the store and that they all stopped to see where the impromptu concert was coming from. He was in his element.  So when we took the train ride with real cowboys onboard, he was beyond thrilled.  He was decked out in his own cowboy dudes and carrying a toy tomahawk that insisted on bringing inside.   He watched intently as the cowboys acted out scenes and fired their guns.

And then he saw this...

Indians!  And my boy nearly lost his mind.

He yelled.  Loud.  And he urged the cowboys to kill those Indians.  And not just once.  Over and over again.  The intense, passionate side of his personality emerged.  We had to tell him to calm down and that he absolutely could not throw his tomahawk at them.  Because he desperately wanted to.  And needed to.  He's a cowboy. And he doesn't take that role lightly.  Amusement park or not, there were Indians to fight.  I sat back and smiled.  I smiled at his innocence and laughed over what my future looks like with the passionate, over the top, boy. It is sure to be interesting.  And intense.