Life Lessons

I wonder sometimes what I will teach my son. What life lessons, what important tidbits, and what necessary information will I impart? I think about the things I see, looking back, that my mom tried to teach me. Self-respect. Confidence. A sense of adventure. Devotion to what I love, whether it be person, career, or place. But those things aren't enough. I have to teach him things my mother didn't have to teach me.

I have to find a way to teach him how to be a man.

I don't say this with the idea of a lumberjack in the back of my mind, or while picturing Hulk Hogan. I am not thinking of stock brokers, or triathletes, or those dudes who strut around the club late at night, oozing testosterone.

I say this while thinking of men I would like my son to emulate, at least in some specific ways. I would like him to be gentle and charming, like my father. I would like him to be smart, like my mom's friend Joe. I would like him to be creative, like Raymond. I would like him to be kind, patient, and generous, like his daddy. I would like him to be sensitive and perceptive, like JJ. And I would like him to be brave, like his Granny Ann, who was obviously not a man, but I think her overt swearing and cigar smoking puts her in the Boys' Club.

These sound like great characteristics for a man to have. And yet it is very hard to find a man who has them all. It is such a struggle to grow up as a boy in this culture. Boys get the message over and over that they are supposed to be tough, that they're superior to girls, that they're not supposed to be emotional, and that their power as human beings comes from their sexual prowess.  They see glorified images of muscled dimwits, or snide and condescending snobs, and think that's who they're supposed to be.

I don't want that for Owen. I want him to be a full person, to experience and express a full range of thoughts and feelings, and not be afraid of that. I want him to respect himself, and women, and other men. I want him to find his power in his openness, and his intelligence, and his compassion.

I want him to be one of the good guys. I want someone, someday, to say about him that they got themselves a good man.

So the question becomes...how do I help him become that?

Opposites Attract

Owen has a baby best friend, Ezra. Ezra is 8 weeks older than him, but they're about the same size, and they're developmentally pretty close to each other, so they have play dates. Cute, giddy, adorable play dates.

They adore each other. They squeal as soon as Ezra walks in the door. Owen wiggles and jiggles all over, he practically trips over his own feet (ok, he DOES trip over his own feet) crawling at light speed to get to Ezra, and Ezra breaks out in a big grin and waves his little arms. It is obvious how happy they are.

The funny thing is, they're total opposites.

Ezra will sit in one spot for 20 minutes, totally absorbed with one toy, quietly inspecting it and turning it over in his hands. He will smile a few times, but is kind of serious and intense. He doesn't make much noise; he's a very quiet and calm baby boy. When his mommy feeds him, he sits still and opens his mouth like a little bird, and doesn't squish it into his eyelashes or on top of his head.

Owen, while Ezra is sitting peacefully and engaged, is doing laps around him at the speed of sound. He plays with 12 different toys in 4 minutes, screeches and babbles incessantly, grinning and showing his toofs. He gets excited, he gets mad, he gets bonked on the head and cries. And we all know what happens when I feed him...chaos.

But they love playing together. They love just being on the same floor of the same room together. They have some utterly endearing connection that transcends their obvious differences. It's the sweetest thing I have ever seen.

A short story in which Monkey tries to decapitate himself, flirts with an ER doctor, and traumatizes his nanny.

Today started like any other day. We woke up, ate breakfast, played, took a nap. Our friend Alice came over, and the nanny took my little pooper for his mid-day nap so Alice and I could make Chex mix and chat. Suddenly, a crash! A scream! I run into the nanny's bathroom and Monkey is laying a pile of shattered glass and the nanny is picking a giant free-standing mirror off of him (see below).

the dent where all the glass radiates from was made my by child's skull...

I was totally calm, the nanny was kind of freaking out, and poor Alice kept saying "What can I do?" I inspected him from head to toe, and he wasn't bleeding or anything. We decided to take him to the ER anyway because even though he only had a few teeny scratches on him, he had pulverized glass dust all over his face and I was worried it might have gotten in his eyes. After waiting 40 minutes, and after Monkey flirted shamelessly with the handsome ER doctor, they irrigated his eyes and said he seemed totally fine.

It was uncanny how calm I was. The nanny remarked on it later several times. I have always been pretty good in emergency situations (I mean, why else would I join a fire department?!) and I can stay level headed and focused when everyone else is either a zombie or falling apart. But I was surprised I was still able to do that, instinctively, with my own son. I guess I anticipated being more hysterical. 

It's good to know this, because I doubt this is our last trip to the emergency room with a {potentially} injured little boy.

Man, am I in for it...it's going to be a long 18 years.