Child (R/F)earing

22 01 2007

I know this blog has gotten a little newborn-centric and I apologize. It was never my intention to start mommyblogging. It’s been difficult to think about much else than the new kid since she’s eating up so much of our bandwidth. However I need a break as much as you do from that theme, so I’ve opted to take a broad departure and write about someone else’s kids.

Ever since I met my wife I have taken a small role in helping to raise her nephews. They are amazing little guys, bursting with vigor and slowly learning how to make their way in the world. The first one was born not too long after we started dating so I’ve been able to get my claws into them from the get go. I’m actually among their favorite people on this earth. To demonstrate this assertion, let me give you a typical timeline of events upon my arrival at their home:

0:00 – Notification of our car pulling into their driveway is issued in faux-excited tone by one or more parents.

0:01 – One or more nephews stampede over toys and furniture in collision course with me, unless it is a week where they are off Xbox restriction. They have yet to ever be un-grounded.

0:02 – I am greeted with a flurry of hugs, shouting, jockeying for attention, and a cursory nod from the nearest exhausted parent. Aunt Anita is summarily ignored unless she is carrying tribute of some sort.

0:02 and 30 seconds – The full frontal assault on my balls begins.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons about parenting from tending to these two, but there is one that outshines them all. If you’re raising boys, guard your junk. Somewhere around age 4 boys discover the universal equalizer of testicular tenderness. They quickly grow mad with power from the realization that even at their lilliputan stature they have the capability to down an adult male. Add to that a tenuous knowledge of martial arts culled from a variety of cartoon heroes and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Testicular disaster.

Apart from becoming adept at parrying off tiny fists, watching the boys has always been very natural to me. I’m actually just good with kids in general. I’ve always been able to identify with them because know what they need, namely a righteous beating interest. Kids have an endless number of things they want to share and if you continually appear fascinated they’ll adore you forever. Kids are basically camwhores in training. In the case of my nephews, being interested in Bionicles, amateur swordplay with household items, and, again, the finer points of crotch kicks pretty much covers the gamut.

I know not everyone feels comfortable around kids and there’s a good reason for it. To truly “get” kids you have to be a bit emotionally stunted yourself. It’s a quality I have to spare. It’s probably not something to brag about , but it does have its advantages. For example, I never have to go to the bank with my wife. She refuses to endure my wailing and passive resistance via “rubber-legs”. Like me, kids simply reside in their id. They are little needmachines that target whatever they desire (for this example, lets say contusing my groin) and immediately formulate the shortest path-length to attaining it (for this example, lets say a mop handle or plastic light saber). Despite this, parents love to ascribe evidence of maturity to all their kid’s inane behaviors. I’m no exception. I am convinced that my supermodel genius of a daughter is formulating the Grand Unification Theory every time she thoughtfully furrows her brow. She may yet accomplish this lofty goal, but for now its just the face she makes when dropping the deuce.

I was going to tidy this entry up with a charming resolution that neatly tied all of these observations together, but it just occured to me that I was unable to complete this without referencing my daughter again. Damn her undeniable cuteness!




4 responses

23 01 2007

“I know not every feels comfortable around kids and there’s a good reason for it.” What about everyone? ohhhhhhhhhhh.

And hey, a lot of great thinkers do their best brainstorming on the thrown. Your daughter is on the right track.

23 01 2007

What about throne? Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.

No wonder kids like me. I’m emotionally retarded.

23 01 2007

Kids dig lesbians.

23 01 2007

Calling me out on spelling and typos is like shooting really big fish in a really small barrel with a really big gun.

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