Riding in Cars with Boys

My family and I like to play a game.

It's fairly simple. One of us spots someone lurching down the street, gesticulating wildly. Perhaps he's muttering. Or laughing hysterically. Or maybe he's shouting. Before we get too close, we have to guess. Crazy? Or on the phone?

You see, in the olden days, back before bluetooth, it would be pretty safe to assume that this guy was out of his mind, probably having an animated discussion with his demon friend Balthazar who lives in his head about where to get lunch. But now? Well, now it's likely that he's having an animated discussion with his girlfriend. About where to get lunch.

Sometimes it's really hard to tell.

I wind up talking on the phone a lot when I'm on the street. In the morning, I'm checking in with the kids, and in the afternoon I grab a few minutes with mom or the husband. I don't have a bluetooth, though. I want people to know that I'm not crazy. You know, that I'm on the phone.

Since there is a "bus commandment" about not talking on the cell, I usually wait to get off to talk to the kids. When they were in elementary and intermediate school, I used to talk to both of them, but now that the girl child is in high school and she gets up earlier, we actually pass each other in the hallway. That's kinda nice. So now, each day between 7:00 and 7:15, I call the house and speak only with the boy. The conversation goes something like this:

"Son!"
"Mother!"
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes!"
"What are you doing?"
"Eating breakfast."
"Do you have any tests today?" (I already know the answer to this one.)
"It's Friday. Vocab."
And so it goes.

Talking to the boy child is different from talking to the girl child. We have already established that without prompting, the girl child will tell me everything to the point of TMI, but the boy child is not as forthcoming. I know all about girl children, about how to talk to them. I was a girl child once, after all. But I had no brothers, and a father who didn't really "chat." I was intimidated by talking to boys, and sometimes, I think I still am. My girl child has never been intimidated. She gets it. But she doesn't get it from me.

The boy child talks to me about Minecraft. He explains math problems. He talks to me about a battle that took place in WWII. He talks about grammar. He is a nerd. Occasionally, he'll describe two girls in his class having a girl-fight. I perk up when he does that. He is funny but has a very adult sense of humor. It's often a male adult sense of humor though, which is actually right for his age, thirteen. He and my eldest child can really crack themselves up. I ask the boy child questions about school, what his teacher said, what his friends did, who he ate with at lunch. Sometimes I get answers. Sometimes he tells me things that happened in fourth grade that I can't do anything about anymore. Sometimes he gets annoyed. He is a boy child. I think this is normal. I'm not sure. I have books about boy children, but I haven't read them yet because I am lazy. Maybe I'll read them one day, but I suspect that by the time I do, it will be too late.

Unlike some others I've met (like my girl child), my boy child is very sensitive. He is the one who comes to me when I'm not feeling well and rubs my shoulders, tucks me into bed, gives me a favorite stuffed animal to hold. He is the first to apologize when he thinks he's done something wrong, the first to hug me, the first to cry. He makes dates with me, because we don't get to see each other enough, and sometimes they get broken. I feel badly about that. I make promises I can't keep because I'm tired, or we run out of time. That makes me sad. It's just not right.

And now, he likes to hang out with his friends. The boy child has taken up with some kids that he's known for years. They didn't jell as a group until recently. I am one happy mama. I used to worry that the boy child didn't click with anyone. His interests were different. He had a weird sense of humor. He was small for his age. One night I was driving home with him and one of his friends, a boy twice his size that he's known since pre-school, and one of the gentlest, most genuine souls on earth. They were talking about high school, and how they might wind up at different schools, and then college, and then beyond. And his friend made him promise that even though they might go to different schools, they would always be best friends. And he promised. And I have no doubt that they will.

Lately, I've learned I can't force the conversation. If I do, the boy child gets cranky and won't tell me anything. The girl child does that, too, but it usually only lasts fifteen minutes and then she can't contain herself. They are different people, the girl child and the boy child. She may tell me everything, but although he may not, I've discovered I can still learn a lot by riding in cars with boys.