Braving Boys

Nothing but normal

I’m pretty sure my boys are normal — on most days. Then there are times when I am convinced they are way off kilter and need massive therapy. I mean, is it OK for a 6-year-old boy to pinch another child at school, pull his brother’s hair in the car and cry buckets of tears when he loses at family game night? Friends swear it’s right on target, and an assistant principal tells me it’s what first-grade boys do. But when this “hypothetical” boy has never before pinched, pulled hair or broken down so easily — not even as a toddler — it strikes me that something might be wrong, that something is luring him back into little-kid land.

“Six-year-olds have a firm foot planted in toddlerhood,” a child psychologist once told me. I need to remember that. I also need to keep checking in with research about ages and stages of development, because it’s terrifically reassuring. One quick Google search, and I learned that “Six” is growing more independent, yet feeling less secure, he craves affection from parents and teachers, can be unkind to peers, needs to win and has no problem blatantly cheating or changing the rules, can be hurt by criticism, and BINGO: 6-year-old kids often cry easily.

That’s my boy, who happens to be quite fidgety, too (also characteristic of the age) and, much to my relief …

Normal.

I really don’t like Halloween costumes in bags. You know, those see-through packages stuffed with cheap bits of clothing and ultra hot and steamy rubber-y masks that no kid in his right mind could stand to wear for more than, like, two minutes.

What did my kids want more than anything this year?

Werewolf costumes.

In bags.

After a few attempts at talking them out of the bagged creatures, I caved and shelled out a small fortune on what ended up shedding all over my living room floor. Before our store exit, though, (envisioning a total change of plans for these get-ups), I picked up some fangs and a few tubes of make-up so I could transform their faces into masterpieces. I even bought brown hairspray for styling their locks in just the right messy manner. A perfect compromise: Joey and Danny could sport their el-cheapo (yet expensive) shirts with fake chest hair, and I’d have my creative way with their heads.

Did things pan out like I’d hoped?

Not at first.

See photo above.

But then a funny thing happened. Before Joey even said his first “trick or treat,” his mask got him all hot and bothered. So he and I made a mad dash back home, and we turned him into last year’s vampire.

See photo to the left.

Danny, however, apparently not in his right mind, made it to the bitter end in his furry contraption.

I’m not sure how things will unfold next year. I’m pretty sure I’ve got Joey on my side — no costumes in bags! — but Danny could very well present a challenge. Maybe I’ll start working on him now. I’ll remind him of what a hit he was a few years ago as a Home Depot guy (tool belt, orange apron, name tag and all). He also makes a super cute pirate and, well, I happen to think a vampire never goes out of style. If he totally balks at my nudges, I guess I can be OK with a bagged costume and mask. Just one condition: It must be a werewolf.

Hey, batter!

We’re not opposed to bribing boys for certain behaviors, although we prefer to call it “motivating” boys or “inspiring” boys, because, well,  it just sounds better. We did it recently with grades. We told Joey and Danny we’d pay them for each A (Joey) and each E (Danny), and surprise — Joey brought home straight As on his first 9-week report card, and Danny delivered mostly Es.

Some say kids should not be financially rewarded for doing well in school, they should shine scholastically because it’s expected. I say showing up is expected. Excelling is icing on the cake. And, hey, we’re all for helping our boys pile on the icing.

My mom bribed motivated Joey this weekend, and I must say it worked wonders. You see, my poor guy has been in a batting slump. Once known for cracking the ball with ease, the kid had gone several baseball games without  making any hint of contact. He became so discouraged, he was pretty sure he’d never choose to play ball again. And then something generous happened: His Nana offered him $10 for each hit during tournament play. Score. The kid hit, and hit, and hit, and hit — that’s four hits, which means Joey is now $40 richer. I’m pretty sure he might play on a team again. I’m definitely sure his confidence is restored, and there’s nothing better than that at the end of a season.

Is Joey only getting good grades and hitting baseballs because of the cash that awaits him? Maybe. Is that a problem? Nope. He still makes his bed voluntarily. He cleans up after himself free of charge and he drags in the trash can every Tuesday morning simply because it’s his job — not because there’s a fee attached. For some tasks, however, we will inspire our kids with a little moolah. The way I see it, it’s partly (perhaps mostly) why we all perform well in our jobs — because we want the prize that comes in the form of a pumped-up paycheck.

And then it’s entirely possible the money didn’t inspire — maybe Joey rocked the start of third grade because he’s just that smart. And maybe his coaches and dad and uncle, who spent hours fine-tuning his swing and stance, are to credit for the comeback. Perhaps it’s a combination of everything — smarts, good coaches and funds. And if that’s the case, I couldn’t be happier.

Photo: Martha Edwards

I publish this photo (taken by my Canadian friend Martha who is living in London) in honor of 8-year-old Joey and 6-year-old Danny, who want so desperately to have a boat. It can be any boat — big or small, new or old — so long as it floats, supports the weight of a few people and allows for both a cast net and fishing pole on board. Some day their dream will come true, we tell them. Some day.

As for the photo, it was taken on an Island off the south of England called the Isle of Wight in a little village aptly named Seaview. The boats are leaning up against a stone wall that separates the village streets from the rocky beach. The Isle of Wight is very quaint and charming and English-y, says Martha, and the coastal scenery is amazing. It was a welcome trip from London, she says, even though the day was quite rainy and dreary.

Martha is a photographer, by the way, and you can check out her lovely work at http://www.marthaedwards.ca/

Eight-year-old Joey said to me today, “I’d go back to all the bad times in my life to get back to some of the good ones.” Pretty profound for a young guy — and exactly how many bad times can the boy have encountered? I didn’t ask, just focused on the good instead.

“Which good times?” I asked.

“Just me and Daddy at Lake Wauburg, all by ourselves,” he said.

Knowing it must be a dad’s dream to hear something like this, I told John. Sure enough, his heart was warmed. And he can’t wait to get Joey back out on the lake, with the favorite cast net and a few fishing poles on a simple little Jon boat.

How about you — would you go back through the bad to get to the good?

“It’s a boy bag,” Danny declared the other day about the black leather, well, let’s call it a purse, sitting next to him in the back seat of the car. In it were a few toys he’d grabbed from the playroom before we headed out to watch cousin Jordan play soccer, and he’d stocked it with some money, too — he and Joey can’t hang out at the fields without buying something from the concession stand.

“Oh, a boy bag,” I responded.

“Yea,” Danny said. “Daddy told me that’s what is is.”

I totally understood.

“Well, then, that’s what it is,” I told him.

He was happy.

Until Joey scooted his booty into the vehicle and said, “Danny, why do you have a purse?”

Ouch.

The boy bag hasn’t been seen since.