Three equal length boxes arrived at the house last week. Narrow, about three feet long.

I pondered. Golf clubs?

They were addressed to my oldest, so I texted him from work.

Boxes for you at house.

Yes!  he texted, and he told me that they were birthday presents for himself and his brothers.

I was filled with dread. You don’t understand his style in gift giving. He gives things like Bernese puppies. Forts. Sprinkler systems. Trips to places like Auschwitz, and Machu Picchu. Gift cards for experiences like combing the cashmere off the bellies of Angora goats in the Himalayas. His gifts should come with things like warranties. Flight plans. Insurance policies.

When I arrived home, the outer boxes were on the floor, and one inner box.

Game of Thrones, the box said.

I called Tommy down, and he emerged off the stairs holding a sword. A real sword, the sharp kind that disembowels villains in Shakespearean tragedies.

I stared and asked.

But why? Why do you need that? What will you do with it?

He shrugged, and offered:

Hang it on my wall at school? Have a sword fight?

Jesus, I said. No. That’s a real sword.

He scoffed. That’s the point, Mom. This is a Game of Thrones sword. You wouldn’t understand.

Obviously not.

Then it was the night of our big family dinner at our favorite restaurant, and we were all gathered at the house. It was time for John to give his twin brother Dustin his sword. I wondered how it would go over, Mr. Conservative Hospital Corners getting a sword for his birthday. I hoped he didn’t hurt his brother’s feelings when he opened it.

When I heard him whoop and holler, I knew I still didn’t get it. I’ve never seen him happier with a gift in my life. They showed me some “Game of Thrones” video, some battle scene where some leader who doesn’t want to be a leader but who is a leader anyway charges thousands of barbarians all shooting arrows at him. He thinks he is alone, when he suddenly turns around, and realizes his own army has been behind him the whole time. He draws his sword.

The Sword. The one that they all now own, the sword they are whispering about. I hear only snippets of their conversation.

Fight…Yard…Cousins…Thanksgiving.

God, I hope they are going to use the swords to cut the turkey.