Because He Can

Last summer I was standing in front of the house talking with one of my neighbors. Begrudgingly. She is the neighbor with whom I least like to talk. In fact if I'm outside and I see her slowing down in front of our house I often jump on a ladder so as to appear too busy to chat. Best case she doesn't want to disturb me and keeps on driving. Worst case she thinks I'm crazy for standing on a ladder in the middle of the driveway doing absolutely nothing. Either way she keeps driving. She is pleasant enough but I can only tolerate so many stories about her brilliant son. He is always the top reader, top soccer player, top bike rider, top everything. Since I also know her son, I know that in addition to being a braggart, she is also stretches the truth. A lot. On this particular day she caught me without a ladder nearby.

As I listened to her describing her son's latest feat of glory, I used the eyes in the back of my head, the ones I developed when I became a mother, to monitor my kids who were playing in the garage. It was there that I saw Bennett with his little, brown butt bared for the world to see, peeing into the recycling container. I shifted my stance so that I could see inside the garage, maintain a semblance of eye contact with my neighbor and simultaneously block her view of the garage. We have indoor plumbing. Had Bennett walked about 15 feet into the house he would have encountered a perfectly functional toilet. Very disturbing.

I once read that parents should avoid the use of "why questions." Apparently starting a question with "why" puts kids in a defensive mode. I would add that starting questions with "What the hell were you thinking?" isn't much better. Bennett answered with his usual refrain: "I dunno."

Recently I was chatting with one of my friends who sports the same "equipment" as Bennett. He wasn't bothered at all by Bennett's assault of our recycling bin. I asked him why guys do stuff like this. His answer: "I dunno--because we can?"

When Bennett was an infant Beth and I proclaimed that we would raise strong, independent children who were free from gender stereo-types. I wanted my girls to play with trucks and my boy to be comfortable with dolls. [Well, maybe not completely free of stereo-types. I'm not sure I'd push my boy toward ballet. Really, how much "otherness" can a guy withstand?] I claimed that boys were aggressive and physical because parents pushed in that way. Boy, was I wrong.

Peyton is a physical kid. She is athletic, rambunctious, adventuresome. I didn't think any boy could be appreciably different. Allow me to go on record: I was wrong. Bennett has an entirely different energy and operating system. I have a Mac and a PC. Bennett plays differently, reacts differently, expresses himself differently. Earlier this year he got into trouble at pre-school for fighting. His pint-sized nemesis had called him a "feef" [I think the kid meant thief]. I asked Bennett what that meant. Ben's reply: "I don't know but I didn't like it so I hit 'em."

We also swore that we would be a "toy gun-free" house. And we were, until Bennett turned everything into a gun: a carrot, his finger, a stick. The final straw was when we caught him rolling up his favorite chenille and satin blanket--the one he calls "Lovie"-- and trying to fashion it into a gun. We allowed my father to buy Bennett a toy western six-shooter. We told him that he could only shoot bears and Republicans.

During Bennett's 5-year-old check up I mentioned to our pediatrician that Bennett was really starting to display some anger. I asked if I should be concerned. The doctor asked about the occasions that led to the angry displays. I told him it could vary: sometimes it was the seams on on his socks, sometimes it was because he had been corrected for running in the house, sometimes he got angry because Peyton looked at him in a certain way. Using all of his medical training and experience, our pediatrician looked into my eyes and asked: "You realize you are raising a boy right?" He explained that boys don't know how to express sadness or frustration. They only know anger.

Bennett is a mystery to me. It is a blessing and curse that my children are adopted. Sometimes I think it might be easier to say "you act just like your father" or "you take after your uncle." With biological children I think it might be easy to skip past the odd or troubling behavior and attribute it to genetics. I honestly don't know if Bennett does these things because he is a boy, he is the middle child or if he is acting like one of his birth parents. This leaves me to figure out my kid.

In November Bennett turned five. The night before his birthday we were walking hand in hand through the grocery store as we went to pick up the giant birthday cookie he wanted for his pre-school class celebration. We happily chatted about birthday parties and super heroes and sports. We were walking behind a mom and her teen-aged son. He was on the phone talking about girls and parties and cars. His mom chastised him for being on the phone non-stop. The teenager glared at her before slamming his phone in his pocket and storming off. I know I'm only a few years away from that scene and so I cherish these hand-holding moments with my boy.

Ben is perfectly comfortable grabbing my hand while we are walking. A couple of weeks ago he climbed on my lap at a hockey game. Each night we go through a routine where I give him "all the kisses in the world." A couple of years ago he said that I didn't give him enough goodnight kisses. I realize that he was stalling bedtime. When I asked him how many kisses would be enough, he replied: "All the kisses in the world." So each night I give him all the kisses in the world as I tuck him into bed.

Right now I have a little boy who favors super hero boxer shorts, tiny action figures and any toy that includes a sword. He will play princess stuff with his sisters as long as there is a bad guy he can slay with one of his swords. He talks to me about things like whether or not Batman and Spiderman could lift up our entire house. And I've learned to stop asking questions like "Why would they want to lift up our house?" I admit I don't always understand him. I will never understand peeing in a recycling bin or having an obsession with swords. What I do understand is that my boy won't always hold my hand in public. There will be a time when he doesn't want me to tuck him in. I do understand that these things don't last forever.

So I will gladly embrace any opportunity I have to walk hand in hand with him and talk about things I find nonsensical, because I can.