Are We Doing Our Boys Justice?

When I wrote about Kali not being able to attend sleep-overs, I found some interesting thoughts to chew on in the comments.

In this day and age, we are all too familiar with the fact that children are victimized no matter what sex they are. Molestation, rape, kidnapping, etc., are not reserved for little girls. Boys are preyed upon too.

After speaking with friends and family members that have boys and girls, I found that people seem to be more protective of their little girls. Whether it be because we assume that girls are more fragile, or that we still associate molestation, rape, etc. with little girls, parents seem to be more careful with their little girls.

A single Dad of a teenage boy and girl pointed out on the blog that his son has sleep-overs, but because of parents that felt as I did, his daughter never did. How fair is that to her? On the flip side, are we opening up our sons to more danger by having less restrictions? The homes of possible sleep-overs are extra scrutinized for our girls (if they’re allowed to go at all), but not so for boys.

Boys are also given more rope when it comes to curfews and when they’re allowed to date. I remember with my own parents, it was cause for jokes if my brother came home from school talking about a girl. My sisters and I were not afforded the same luxury. Crushes were kept on the D.L. You didn’t fix your lips to talk about boys in front of your parents.

In talking to people for this blog, I had one parent admit something to me that pretty much blew my mind. They allow their teenage son to have sex in their home. Why? Because they worry about their son’s safety if he’s caught having sex in his girlfriend’s home. They reason that their preteen daughter wouldn’t be shot by an angry Mom if she’s caught in her boyfriend’s room, but their teenage son might have to run for his life from an angry Dad if the tables were turned.

Now imagine affording your daughter the same permission? Yeah, I didn’t think so. We worry about our girls coming home pregnant, but do parents stress the same when it comes to their boys getting girls pregnant?

This treatment can even be traced back further. I need only look to my own husband and son. I am paranoid about head injuries. I just don’t think they should be taken lightly. No, I don’t rush Jack to the ER for every head bump, but as any responsible parent would, I monitor him afterwards. My stone fireplace hearth is of particular concern to me so it’s surrounded by throw pillows. (The baby guards just don’t cut it.)

Anytime Jack takes a tumble, Donny says, “He’ll be all right. He’s a boy!” As if being a boy makes him any less an infant! We shouldn’t be less concerned with Jack’s injuries because he’s a boy. Donny seems to think that broken bones are par for the course of having a son. That doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t expect to put him in a bubble, but since when are broken bones a good thing?

So, I toss it to you.

Are boys and girls raised differently, and if so, are boys put more at risk because of it? Would you allow your teenage son to have sex in your home? Do you find yourself affording your boy more leeway than your daughter because you worry about him less, or think that he can handle more? How did your parents handle it?

GDO: Would You Rather?

Girls’ Day Out has forced me to do something most mothers would hate to admit they need to be forced to do: be present. As I backed out of the garage yesterday, on what was our fourth GDO, I had a million things on my mind. This is not unusual, just not allowed on GDO.

There’s no room for worrying about whether or not a bill was paid, or if the piles of laundry will ever get done. You are not allowed to say, “Not now, honey.” Those words almost escaped my lips as we pulled out of the cul-de-sac and Kali asked, “Wanna play Would You Rather?” I remembered what the day was about. I remembered to be present. I sighed and said, “Yes.”

We played the whole short ride to IHOP, only pausing to order our hot chocolate and late breakfast. Kali is much better at it than I am. Her choices are always so deliciously weird and equally unattractive.

“Would you rather eat chicken guts or take a shower in public?”

“Eat chicken guts.”

“Your turn, Mommy.”

“Would you rather eat fried cat or drink dog piss?”

“Eat fried cat. I’m not drinking anybody’s pee.”

Then she’d get really creative and detailed.

“Would you rather join the Army and be close to death for a whole year, but just close to death, you won’t die, but it will feel like it or have really bad sunburn all over, even your eyes, for a year?”

What?!

Sometimes she made it very easy on me.

“Would you rather go to school naked every day for a week, or eat a whole buncha…”

“Eat a whole buncha whatever you got. I’m not going to school naked.”

“But you didn’t let me finish.”

“OK, finish.”

“… eat a whole buncha worms mixed with kitty litter.”

“The worms… and I’d wash it down with cow’s blood.”

“Man. You really don’t want to go to school naked.”

Sometimes, we both couldn’t believe I needed an alternative.

“Mommy, would you rather jump off the roof of a very high building with no parachute or…”
“Wait. Would I die?”

“Probably.”

“OK, what’s the other choice?”

“Wait. Why do you need another choice?!”

“Cause that’s the game!”

Sometimes, my answers went right over her head.

“Would you rather have to lie on your back, naked, in a stranger’s house…”

“Hey, I used to call that Friday nights!”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Other times I realized she truly is her mother’s child.

“Kali, would you rather not watch TV for a month or wear nothing but your underwear to school for a month?”

…

…

…

“Kali!”

“I’m thinking!”

Sometimes, her answers made me laugh.

“Would you rather be smacked in the head or kicked in the butt.”

“Smacked in the head. My butt is sensitive.”

Sometimes we had fun at other people’s expense.

“Hey, Mommy, look at that guy on the corner. Remember he was out there last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Why is he dressed in that costume?”

“‘Cause he’s trying to get people to use a business nearby… some kind of store or something. Hey, would you rather be dressed up in a ridiculous suit, standing on the corner in the cold, waving a giant red hand or would you rather have to shovel horse poo for ten hours?”

“I’m waving the hand. Do I look like I would shovel horse poo?”

Sometimes, we had fun at each other’s expense. As I wiped up some hot chocolate that had dripped on the table…

“Hey, I thought you said we don’t clean up our messes on Mommy Monday… I mean, Girls’ Day Out.”

“What do you know about Mommy Monday?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I said that. I think I saw it on your computer.”

“Yeah, it’s where I write about being a Mom.”

“Will you write about Girls’ Day Out?”

“Yup. I have already. And I wrote about your trip to the dentist and the fact that you’re easily distracted.”

“Hey! I am not easily distracted.”

“Yes you are. Hey, look at that shiny thing!” I said pointing over her shoulder.

Her head whipped around. “Where?!”

“See.”

I laughed a lot yesterday. Deep, belly laughs with my daughter. I was present. And even if I hadn’t written about it, I’d remember that day.

 

Girls’ Day Out

As I post this, Kali and I have had three Girls’ Day Out. For those just joining us, I decided to take a cue from my best friend, Sophie, and designate some mandatory mother-daughter time for Kali and me each week.

Every Sunday morning we go out for hot chocolate, and then do something together. It just so happened that each week that something else has been shopping. Our first Sunday together we went to the IHOP that’s about five minutes from our house and ordered hot chocolate and breakfast. One sip in, and I knew it was an excellent idea. Their hot chocolate is delicious!

After breakfast, we headed over to Old Navy to check out a massive sale they were having. Probably ’cause we felt a little guilty, we ended up buying more stuff for Donny and Jack than ourselves.

I remembered that Sophie said she used Girls’ Day Out with her daughter, Zoe (5), to discuss things that she may need to work on like being nicer to her little brother or following directions. I wanted to bring up some issues I had with a friend Kali made at school who I feel was a bad influence, but I thought I’d ease into that on another Sunday. Don’t want to turn her off from G.D.O before it really gets started, you know?

The next week, we did our usual IHOP breakfast with hot chocolate and then went off to Ulta because Mommy needed make-up and Barnes & Noble so that I could get some writing magazines, and Kali could pick out a book. I tried to convince her to get her hair done (and even offered to get mine done as well – “Donny, I had to! I had to show her that it would be okay!”), but she’s never had her hair professionally done, and she was a bit apprehensive.

Yesterday, on our third outing, we decided to mix things up a bit. Jack was being particularly fussy so I asked Kali if she’d mind him coming with us to give Daddy a break. She was all for it! Another change came when Kali announced she’d rather go to Dunkin Donuts, right across the street from IHOP, instead for our hot chocolate.

We were a bit disappointed to find that their hot chocolate machine was broken, and we settled on chocolate milk for Kali and a coffee for me. We each got a breakfast sandwich and one donut. While we ate, an older white gentleman arrived on a motorcycle. He sat across the store enjoying his coffee and donut and occasionally smiling our way.

On a trip to the men’s room, located right behind us, he stopped at the table next to us where a woman was having breakfast with her two young girls. She was snapping pics of them with a digital camera and the stranger offered to take a pic of the three of them together. She refused, he insisted, and she politely refused again. He gave up and went to the bathroom, but not before stopping to pat Jack on his head. My mommy radar pinged like crazy.

“Kali, finish up, we’re leaving.”

She didn’t ask any questions and did as she was told. I had ordered a sandwich and coffee for Donny and by the time we were ready to go, it still wasn’t ready. The stranger was back at his table and smiled our way as we waited by the door. After a moment, he got up holding his coffee cup and came over to us. Jack was strapped into his car seat which was sitting on the floor. He knelt down and asked how old he was.

“Six months,” I answered.

“He’s beautiful. Though I suppose the proper word is handsome.”
“Thank you.”

The entire time Jack is looking at him like, “Do I know you?”

“And you, you’re a knockout,” he said turning to Kali. If he touched her, I had made up my mind I would punch him in the junk. Thankfully, he didn’t.

Knockout? I didn’t think that was appropriate.

“Your Dad’s gonna need to get a bodyguard.”

“He already has a shotgun,” I said playing along, but not really.

He laughed and returned to his table where he prepared to go. Our food was ready, but I waited till he was outside strapping on his helmet before I went to retrieve it and even then, I waited until he got on his bike before I prepared to leave.

“What are we waiting for?”

“Him to leave.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“He was just being friendly.”

“Overly friendly.”

“I thought friendly was a good thing.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

“In his case, no. Friendly is not a good thing.”

I’ve been enjoying our conversations on G.D.O. Not all are so serious. On our first outing, while we sipped hot chocolate and waited for our breakfast we played 20 Questions. I went first.

It took Kali about 13 questions to correctly guess puppy. Halfway through, neither of us were sure which number question we were on. When it was her turn, I started with the basics and finally asked, “Can you ride in it?”

“No,” she giggled, “but it would be funny if you could.”

“Kali, you’re supposed to just say yes or no.”

“Sorry,” she said giggling again.

“What question are we on?”

“I don’t remember. We should probably just called it Questions ’cause we’re not very good at keeping track.”

True dat.

We were about 17 questions in, and I was getting nowhere. Kali, though, was laughing her ass off.

“Is it a part of your body?”

“It can be.”

I was too frustrated and confused to scold her for breaking the rules. Then I got a sneaking suspicion.

“Does it have eyes?”

“Yes… the biggest brown eyes I ever did see!” she exclaimed, not able to help herself, and sounding like Laura Ingalls.

“Kali. Is it Jack?”

“Yes!”

Silly goose.