I think I may be too soft, maybe just over sensitive. Maybe I just don’t know much about parenting boys (although I should point out at this stage that I know less about parenting girls.)
You see my son is turning out to be a typical boy, or so my husband keeps assuring me, and I am not finding this all that easy to deal with
- He is more and more reluctant to bath
- He seems to be physically attached to a ball. Always. Even whilst brushing his teeth. The type of ball may change but the attachment never waivers
- He cannot understand the simple term “no soccer inside the house”
- He is obsessed with wrestling and can recite the name of every wrestler ever to put his foot near a ring
- He loves a screen, be it computer, TV, phone or portable playing device
- He likes to shoot. Yes. Shoot. With guns. While he has no access (thank you God) to a real gun he will aim and shoot anything at anyone. First person shooter games are like his crack
- He loves to fight – not verbally and not with anger or malice but with hands, feet, legs, strength and frequency
- He wants to read books that involve detectives, shooting, espionage, robbery, fighting, war, science fiction and possibly horror
- He would rather be playing with his friends than , er anything. Seriously – anything. If he could be shooting at a wrestling match with his friends he may as well be in boy heaven
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Given that I visibly gag when I even think of something violent and that I can think of no better way to pass the time than lying on a soft, warm bed drinking tea and reading a book while scented candles fill the air with a warm aroma this is a huge quantum leap for me. Huge.
And it’s all come as a bit of a shock – he was always such a peaceful child and to the outside observer he still is. He’s small, petite and almost angelic – until he draws a pretend gun and shoots in the heart or gets you in a headlock and threatens to elbow your face while reciting The Life and Times of Hulk Hogan.
Delightful. I can’t stand it.
But my husband? He seems to just get it
They can talk for hours about calibres of guns (I am horrified by how much Mr Pencil knows), they can disappear to the park with litres of coke and rolls of Mentos to make explosions coming home sopping and sticky, they can wrestle “pro” style on the trampoline until Mr Pencil retires bruised and spent and they can play first person shooter games on the x-box till, well till I threaten to pull the plug out of the wall.
And I see it when he plays with his friends, their play is nor much different. It is clear to me that 10 year old boys are not averse to playing with a little bit, okay a lot, of testosterone injected into their games.
I watch with horror and I try and tell Mr Pencil to be more encouraging of passive pursuits – I worry about the violent games, the shooting, the destruction. Can’t he be more more interested in I don’t know, painting or marble collecting or playing the clarinet. Okay not the clarinet but painting could be fun.
But Mr Pencil has just one line for me and he repeats it all the time “he’s a 10 year old boy, it’s normal”
And while I try to point out that he’s actually 43 he pretends he can’t hear me above the sound of the x-box.