Why do turtles have to die?

This is my boy. Yep, he's sucking his thumb back there behind Lucy (Isn't she adorable?). If you've met him, you've seen him do it. If he attempts to curb this habit, then he chews on his shirt -- as in big giant holes in minutes. I'm OK with him sucking his thumb. It's cheaper than buying a shirt for every day of his life, especially since we practically need a new pair of jeans after every two wears. I love him to pieces, regardless of what he might say otherwise! The story below is one of a million and one reasons I love him. 

“I love my son.” I don’t say it enough; can one possibly say that enough?

Unlike my daughter who can be emotionally detached from certain worldly injustices, my son possesses a heart and soul much like mine. He feels compassion for others at a deep level; he can’t bear to watch another person – or even a creature for that matter – in pain, even in a fictional movie.

And he’ll let us know! As he did during our recent viewing of “Turtle: The Incredible Journey.”

Abby watched with fascination as baby loggerhead turtles dug upward through their sandy nests for three days then attempted the treacherous journey to the sea 40 meters away, many getting plucked away by predators. “Look, the crab’s going to eat that one,” she said, intently engaged in the mysteries of real beach life unraveling on the screen in front of her.

That simply further infuriated her brother, who was already shouting at this point that we MUST turn off the documentary that he chose between two Saturday night movie picks.

Why. Writhing in anger, Ryker wanted to know why would anyone film or watch this? He choked back tears, yelling instead of crying in his utter frustration. Somehow after 7 years, it's no longer acceptable for him to cry. I believe he thinks if we turn it off, it will be easier for him to turn off the tears.

I told him it was OK.(Boys need to know that.) It’s fine to cry when you’re angry or sad. It’s OK to be emotionally moved by something. I also noted that the turtles being eaten was all part of God’s plan because otherwise our planet would be invaded by these suckers.

In a way, that was part of the documentary’s message. The filmmakers wanted us to understand just how many odds the loggerhead turtle had to overcome in order to make it back to that same beach in 20 years and lay her own eggs. In fact, the film said only 1 in 10,000 does.

It was bittersweet when my baby boy, who ultimately gave the film a chance, crashed out on my lap about halfway through. I was sad that he didn’t get to see the part where the loggerhead, fully mature, snacked on a crunchy crab on the floor of the Caribbean Sea. (Retaliation for her brother's untimely death?)

But I pondered – as this 7-year-old’s frame stretched the length of my body, our legs intertwined – how many more times in my life would I be able to cherish a moment like this?

I love that he’s as emotionally connected as he is intellectually strong and athletically gifted. I couldn’t be more proud of him and the wonderful man I know he’ll someday become.

I just hope, unlike his mom, he doesn’t cry at the emotional climax of every movie – even cartoons and (gulp) some commercials. The movie we saw the night before comes to mind (spoiler alert!), the part where the mom gentle sets her life-saving helmet on her son’s head after his helmet shatters at the predictable ending of the subpar “Mars Needs Moms.”

If he’d seen the rogue tear ruefully rolling down my check that I strategically covered behind a pillow, Ryker would probably have uttered the words, “Come on, Amy. You’re crying? That’s just ridiculous.”

Sometimes, it is. And that's OK, too.