This past weekend was the best of times--and the worst of times. Ordinarily, I'd say the less said about the latter the better. But to understand the highlights, you have to have seen the lowlights.

Look folks, there is no way around it. A child adopted at an older age is different. They have seen things and have had to do things that most middle-class American kids have not. And when you are different, your differences can be a focal point for taunts. And when your English is still not up to par with the other kids your age, you can't parry those taunts with words. So you fall back on orphanage behavior, which can be very physical. And it can be very difficult as a parent to stick to the basic rules of parenting while all this is happening: To say to your child, you treat people the way you want to be treated, and if they don't treat you the right way, you tell them so and walk away.

We wound up camping this weekend with some children who had turned into bullies since we saw them last. And because my little guy's English, while much improved, is still not good enough to use as a shield, he responds to taunts physically, which only empowers a bully more.

All of which is a long way of explaining how we wound up in a tomato field at the end of the weekend, and how that tomato patch saved the day.

The campground, as luck would have it, was near my favorite pick-your-own apple orchard and family farm. In a field, you have to focus on other things, on plants, not people. Taunts can fade like the summer sun. So since I know my little guy loves competition, I first challenged him to be the best apple picker. "Piece of pizza, mom," he replied, perhaps because he likes that better than cake. Not content with just the fruit at eye level, he demanded to use a picking rake. There was lots of frustration and tears (and drops) until he mastered it, but master it he did and he filled a bushel with 21 pounds of beautiful apples.

The tomato farm was nearby, and once again, I got him a bushel basket and issued a challenge. The first selections were beautiful, firm and blemish-free, just like the apples he had gathered. But the next group had a few that were still green, and so did the next. Oh you idiot, Virginia. You forgot that the little guy is red-green color blind. And while that doesn't matter for apples, it matters for tomatoes.

Please no, not more frustration, I thought. Quickly, I picked the reddest tomato I could find and told him to match all the tomatoes he wanted to pick to it. He filled the rest of the 20-pound basket with beautiful red tomatoes that should make any bully green with envy. And that made my little guy feel just grand indeed.