Raw Drip

At age 4, Adam hardly has the sophistication to grasp the implications of statements like, “When I grow up, I want to be a queen.”  Nonetheless, I felt it necessary to try to unravel the statement in search of hidden parenting landmines and to protect Dick from slipping into a surreality coma. 

Me: Why do you want to be a queen?

 

Adam: All good little boys can be a queen when they grow up.

 

Me: But what about being a king?  That’s a pretty good gig, too…

 

Adam: No.  Only a queen gets to wear a pink dress.  Boys don’t wear pink.

 

Me: Boys do wear pink.  I know lots of wonderful boys who like pink.

 

Adam: Are they queens?

 

Me: Some of them are queens - but some are kings.  Buddy, if there’s one thing I can tell you for certain, there are an awful lot of people in this world who like a lot of different things and we all have to appreciate each other’s ideas, even if they aren’t our own.  

In the meantime, maybe you can just wait a few years before you share your wish to be a queen with Daddy? I think he’s still trying to get over you being a sentient being.

*****

As I learned the other day, I should just shut up and be glad that he’s not 14 yet – when the complicated parenting landmines are much more deadly and better hidden under the dense fog of generic teen angst. 

As I laughingly told one of my work colleagues about Adam’s “queenly” ambitions, she confided, “Well, if you think that’s bad, let me just say that I’ve had to start putting a fresh box of Kleenex in Todd’s room (her 14 year old son) every week, if you get my drift…”

Not getting her drift, I stupidly asked, “Oh, does he have allergies??” 

“No,” she said (gritting her teeth as if speaking to an idiot), “he’s whacking off every other minute.”

*****

So, it really is good to be a queen - especially when you’re a 4 year old boy whose mommy still has plenty of time to teach you about the importance of good hygiene and fresh Kleenex (with Aloe, of course).    

Parenting is a perilous journey, indeed.  If nothing else every new day provides another glimpse at the map of landmines ahead of me.  One lesson I learned from my most recent glimpse:  the imagination of a 14 year old male is no less vivid than that of the 4 year old male; it’s just a matter of focus and scale.  

At least by 14 Adam may have given up on the pink dress…maybe.