The screams wafts through the window, “You little chicken shit” and then another voice “I’m going to get you chicken shit” and then I know: my youngest, the bane of his brothers existence, has done something yet again. He is the only one known as the “little chicken shit.” This is a name not just given to the youngest by his brothers, but earned. And as long as they are not in my presence when they use it, I ignore this unsavory nickname.

Why? More than likely he has done something to his brothers that if I knew about, would result in more severe consequences than his brothers will dish out. Like many younger brothers, this one follows along, often trying to one-up his older siblings. When they go swimming and practice holding their breath, he tries to hold his longer- to the point of passing out and having to be rescued. If they are riding their bikes, he tries to do a front wheelie, not just a back one. The resulting fall means an ambulance ride and hospital trip. So many that the drivers know his name.

Practical jokes are another thing altogether, and of course he always takes it one step further. This is probably why he is being chased now. His older brothers are quite inventive in their response to him. I’ve come home from work and found him duct taped to the garage door, with the door open so no one could see him. When I asked why he was in this predicament, I was told that he wouldn’t quit telling stories to one of their girlfriends and they had to “shut him up somehow”. They once had him dress in all black, painted a red X on him, then hoisted him up a tree by his ankles, while telling him to wave- he was their pirate flag, as a way to get him out of the way of a game they wanted to play.

Even when the jokes were banned, he would find a way. Glow in the dark spiders glued all over the walls, floor and fixtures in the bathroom- followed by screams in the middle of the night and then a through but fairly quiet pounding. Leaches left in older brothers’ pockets, just in case they might want to go fishing after school. Homework replaced with inventive and embarrassing answers- only discovered after it was turned in to the teacher and parents called. Over and over this youngest boy, insulted, embarrassed and tormented his brothers, and the least of the responses was this nickname “little chicken shit”

This weekend, years later, I found myself knee deep in chicken shit. I was cleaning the chicken coop after a long winter. It reminded me of my son’s nickname and as I shoveled, I realized that he had truly earned this nickname. Chicken shit, smelly enough to make your eyes water, hard work to move it out of the way, gets on everything, messy, dirty and yet has redeeming qualities. It is a great fertilizer and helps things grow bigger and produce better: it comes from chickens, who give us food in several forms, eggs and meat. So it was with this youngest son, he was the dirtiest, messiest, and often smelliest of my boys. He was adventuresome and was never afraid to try something new. So now that he has grown up, what does he do? The little chicken shit is a farmer and proud of his nickname.