I am sometimes puzzled at how my son, who is 6'1" and a burly Scotsman can be so difficult to figure. Whereas his ancestors were the stock of Highland as well as lowland Scots, with heads of hair as big as their shoulders spilling out of their hard heads, how there could be a fear of anything aside from tossing logs, fighting the British back over a hill-- or girls-- is beyond his mother.

As he came lumbering to the breakfast table, he nodded in my direction. This is as verbose as he generally is at 6:30 am. "Did you sleep well?" I queried over the top of the DenverPost. I handed him a box of Cheerios and a bowl, but he waved me off.

"I can't eat that," he settled into his seat, nonchalantly. "There's a picture of a heart on the box. It makes me think of hearts, and then I can't eat it because it grosses me out."

I looked at the little red, very normal-shaped heart symbol. "This ... symbol?" I pointed.

"Yes, "he said, and before my mouth was open, he pointed with an interjecting finger, "--and don't start!"

He turned to grab some waffles from the freezer and inspected the box for any signs that the food was (dare I say it) "Heart Healthy".

Taking a moment to introduce the subject with some care, I finally followed with, "Are you really upset my hearts? I knew the teenage years were difficult, but that's a little above and beyond, don't you think?"

"Oh laugh. Laugh!" he nodded at me dramatically. "I'm not scared of stuff. And I'm not difficult." I handed him the sticker from the waffles. "Oh look!" I brandished the Ninja Turtle visage of Donatello on a shiny adhesive surface wielding his bo staff towards my son.

It might surprise anyone who meets this stolid young, intelligent man to note that he has an aversion to stickers. The grotesque facial distortions regarding stickers was the beginning of this new morning epiphany.

These are not the kind of stickers found jutting from socks when taking a shortcut through the nettles at a campsite (you see the restrooms in the distance-who needs a circuitous trail?). We're talking the stickers handed out at Wal-Mart which might look a little like Hello Kitty.

He used to say he was 'allergic'to them, eschewing any advancements by well-meaning, smiling adults towards his shirt with anything shaped like a "Hello my name is" or "Happy Birthday" and at the same time, his entire appetite could be ruined by the sight of a sticker. It always made me laugh, partially because this burly young man, sprouting chin hairs the way my lawn sprouts weeds could shrink back from a peeled Sailor Moon or Ninja Turtle adhesive. It's a wonder the boy makes it through Valentine's Day with the stickers and hearts without Valium.

That night there was a shriek from the bedroom upstairs, and an eruption of laughter which immediately told me there was foul play afoot and that, within seconds, there could be complaints, fists, crying, or all three.

" EEEK!" screamed the 15 year old, running up the stairs in his underpants (the natural state of teens everywhere). " I can't believe you guys did that to me!!" he bellowed. My husband and I got to the stairs just as the kids were cracking up and doubled over, no doubt in ecstasy about how very clever they were feeling at the moment.

"What happened?!" I said, expecting to momentarily fend buckets of blood or tarantulas raining from the ceiling vents.

"They! They-it's-- cardboard animals..." he panted, pantless, eyes bulging from their lids.

"Cardboard animals?" My husband scratched his head, unsure.

Through the guffaws of siblings, I slowly remembered bringing home a Charlotte's Web (the movie) punch out play set from a Wendy's Kid's Meal that night. With three younger folks, there were three sets of porcine friends, all complete with barns, stands and other small-sized pen pals, all punched from cardboard. Apparently, my son didn't like the animals. Or the material the items were printed on.

"They put cardboard animals in my bed!" At this, the kids rolled around, laughing some more (in their underwear I might add), rather loudly, about how they got him back for an earlier prank by sticking cardboard animals between his sheets and under his covers. That got him good, apparently. Boy- who- shrieked- like- woman was so out of sorts, standing there, hair blazing from his head like exploding curly embers, and cardboard animals spilling out of each sprawling hand onto the rug for effect.

It was all I could do to keep a straight face.