Showing posts with label raising boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raising boys. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

How Did This Happen

Gus is sort of a redneck.

Well, maybe an aspiring redneck.

Actually, maybe redneck is not the right word.  

Redneck has negative connotations. I just looked it up.  Merriam Webster defines a redneck as:  a white person who lives in a small town or in the country, especially in the southern U.S., who typically has a working-class job, and who is seen by others as being uneducated and having opinions and attitudes that are offensive. 

Gus is white. He does live in a small(ish) town in the (sort of) South. He wants to be working-class, with dreams of being a boat captain or a carpenter. And he is pretty uneducated; he is only in first grade, after all. But I can't imagine him having opinions or attitudes that are offensive. He's a kind boy, charming and more sensitive than you might imagine. He looks out for people. He cares.
But his favorite song at the moment, replacing Girl Downtown by Hayes Carll (which I much preferred)  is Boys 'Round Here. I assume that he heard it from my sisters or one of their boyfriends because I certainly had never heard it until Gus started singing about drinking ice cold beer. 

When you have kids, you sort of assume that they will be something like you. And if not you, that they will at least be something like the other parent. But Gus, he is not me. He is not Tom. He is not Sena, and I will put money on the fact that he won't be Arlo either.

He is all Gus, a boy who doesn't look like any of us or act like us either.

Gus is proud of his buck teeth, and he talks with a twang. He loves to fish, and he wants to hunt. He hates wearing shoes almost as much as he hates wearing a shirt. He adores my sisters' boyfriends, who are varying degrees of country: men who buy him sling shots for Christmas, who take him on rockfish tournaments, who show him barns full of muskrat pelts. 

He looks up to my brother and my friend Steve. He likes working in the yard and building fires. He likes eating meat, preferably with ketchup. He doesn't like to read. He will most certainly drive a truck one day.

If  I had designed my own son, I would not have designed Gus. It would never have occurred to me to make a little man so different from Tom, so different from every boy I ever had a crush on. I wouldn't have planned for a country gentleman, which is actually probably a more accurate label for my eldest boy.

I'm so glad I wasn't in charge. I'm so glad he came out just the way he did. I would have totally screwed it up.

I asked him once if he wanted to be a lawyer like his dad; he said "I don't want to be a lawyer, just like dad. Daddy doesn't even like being a lawyer."  Maybe he does have something in common with Tom after all.  

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Raising a Wildman

On Sunday, while enjoying a lovingly prepared brunch, talking with old college friends in a spectacular old home, I watched as my sweet, charming Gus attacked his best friend, like seriously attacked him. It was sort of awful. Gus jumped on top his friend, pinned him to the ground, then got up and kicked him! As I watched through the window, the whole scene played before me in slow motion. It was crazy; what the hell was Gus doing?
After passing Arlo off to the closest adult, I ran outside to find out what happened. The kids were play wrestling and my little wild man took it too far, way too far, and I haven't been able to get the scene out of my head for days now.
Being a mama is hard, but being a mama of boys is even harder for me because I don't really get them. At least I think I don't get them. Maybe I just don't get Gus. I understand where Sena is coming from most of the time. Sure, I don't always like her behavior, but I understand it. I don't always understand Gus.
Gus's little incident happened in front of  a few adults, and none of them seemed as disturbed as I was. Almost all the witnesses were men, men I have known for a long time, men who are not at all violent, men  I have never seen get in fights or posture or even act aggressive. And all of these men seemed to think  it was normal, what boys do. They weren't saying that it was acceptable, but inevitable, a part of growing up. It wasn't a reflection of my bad parenting or a sign of some latent violent tendencies in my blonde boy. It was a part of being a kid and figuring things out.
Gus is full of so much. He is full of goodness and kindness. He is full of spunk and charm. He is full of big words, prayers, and compliments. And he is full of so much energy and some of that energy is bound to come spewing out in unacceptable directions, and we're going to have to figure out how to raise that boy, how to raise him above those wildman tendencies, how to raise him to his greatest possible potential.