Monday, September 20, 2010
Years ago, when the ultrasound technician pointed out the boy parts on my third child, I worried. I had two girls. I had a sister. Sure, I roamed the neighborhood as a kid with the boys that lived nearby, but I didn't really know how to deal with them. They were so rough and boneheaded. (Hi, neighborhood boys! I'm sure I had annoying tendencies back then, too. No hard feelings. Some of you were almost normal.)
How would I deal with a boy? He'd get really dirty. He'd want to fight. He wouldn't read early. He'd be . . . . A BOY!
I figured it out as time progressed, but this Sunday showed me just how different my daughters can be from my son. He made a new friend and wrestled (as in Greco-Roman style) for half an hour. My daughters at that age found a friend and drew pictures in the dirt or concocted an elaborate story that they acted in front of the parents.
Is that normal for boys to say, "Hey, my name is Max," begin chasing the other boy, and then ending with a grapple in the grass?
Let me just end by saying that as I watched the boys roll towards the sideline of the soccer game they were supposed to be watching, I had a thought. "Holy sh!t, I have A BOY!"