You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
I blame testosterone for the constant tangles my five boys instigate with each other. I guess I don’t know if it’s normal in other homes for two brothers to merely pass each other in the kitchen and end up panting for breath after wrestling for 15 minutes because, and only because, they made eye contact in that passing.
I used to believe I could tame it with constant reminders to “be kind” and “act like gentlemen”. How very female of me. I went so far as to write little reminders throughout the house:
“Keep your hands to home”
“This isn’t a zoo and you are not monkeys”
I’m quite certain that not even monkeys could dream up a farting contest with the winner receiving a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew.
Adolescent male behavior baffles me. They speak a language that I do not understand and their code of conduct involves concepts my brain cannot comprehend. Life seems to be a non-stop competition with sibling respect at stake. Hairiest legs, best burper, biggest biceps, loudest voice, highest score…the comparisons are constant and I am often asked to be the judge.
“I know, guys. Let’s see who can be the quietest!” evokes the loudest objections. ”Let’s see who can go the longest without saying something mean” results in name-calling and more rough-housing.
While I’m comforted by the fact I can use parental authority to bring temporary law and order to a situation, the possibility for an outburst always bubbles right beneath the surface of peace.
“What! His arm touched mine while we were in the van. That’s why I pinched him.”
“He was leaning over me, breathing loud while I was playing on the computer. He deserved the wedgie.”
“He’s just blinking to annoy me so I sat on his head.”
“I only locked his iPod because he stuck his finger in my ice cream RIGHT AFTER I WATCHED HIM STICK IT IN HIS EAR AND HE KNOWS I DON’T LIKE EAR WAX IN MY ICE CREEEEAM!”
And my all time favorite:
“He hit me for no good reason!”
Like you could convince me that there is a good reason to hit.
Novelist Booth Tarkington once said “One of the hardest conditions of boyhood is the almost continuous strain put upon the powers of invention by the constant and harassing necessity for explanations of every natural act.”
I fully admit that, according to that quote, I am adding strain on their boyhood by wanting to understand a behavior so different from my own. Perhaps I should just be content that today no one ended up in the emergency room nor was there any destruction of personal property aside from the temporary tower built with a deck of cards.
What I really want is for someone to assure me that my sons will one day evolve into men who won’t tackle, sit on and pretend to spit in the face of a co-worker just because he used their stapler without asking.
