Photo by Olgite
One of the byproducts of being the mommy of a little boy is that I have been able to observe first-hand how the male mentality (like a light) gets switched on. Up until now, this illuminating understanding had escaped me. There's a particular reason for that. My men (and you may feel free to consider me a Mata Hari of sorts) have all arrived in my life already lit from within by their little gender-specific idiosyncrasies.
Of course, no two guys are alike and you should keep in mind that I'm speaking in generalities only as regards the following observations. Now, in spite of the caveat, there are CERTAIN things that all men universally do and which we women RECOGNIZE as things that MEN DO, because well... men are men.
Somehow (and you'll surely find this silly), I had thought that in creating my little boy, I'd kick some rasa into his tabula. I thought, that I'd be able to circumvent (wait... strike that) that I'd be able to short-circuit - (yes... that's better, but not quite there yet), that I'd be able to surgically strike (brilliant!) at the heart of all the little quirks my collective experience of men, has categorized as UNDESIRABLE behaviors. In other words, I actually thought that my little boy, who will someday be some other woman's man (after all the hard work I've put in), would be a masterpiece of manliness without all that other crappy stuff we just know in our heart of hearts (don't deny it, this is a friendly space and we're allowed to bash here) us good womenfolk could do without.
I think that my mistake lay (no - well yes, there was a bit of hubris involved) in assuming that what I considered typical manly behavior was something that was learned, something that could only be acquired through observation and then (unfortunately) emulated into ghastly perfection. I THOUGHT (this is me laughing out loud) that I'd nip it all in the bud. Easy peasy. I mean really? How hard can it be to train one little boy into a fine specimen of the ideal man? (Did I use the word hubris already?)
Well, the joke is on me most definitely. Yesterday I witnessed how all the bad stuff comes hardwired, waiting on some sort of stealth mechanism mode to just surface at a point where a mother like me, who prides herself on all the lovely manners she thinks she is somehow managing to teach her child, can't help but realize that no matter what, I will NEVER SUCCEED in my endeavors.
This is what took place: I took my son out to the pool, neat as a pin, swimming trunks on and inflatables on his arms. Not two minutes later, he'd managed to divest himself of both and was looking blissfully happy as he petted his frontal nether regions, pulling on his wee wee as if to reassure it that there would be no more of that uncomfortable inner netting to confine it. Next, he alternatively strutted and ran while I tried chasing him back into his trunks. Once he realized however that I had given up and that au naturel pool bathing had won out, the bottom scratching began. Scratch, scratch. No modesty - no care in the world.
Out of my reach, he deliberately arched his little body and peed right into our clean pool. THEN, he leaned in and inspected his handiwork. I didn't say a word. There was challenge in his eyes. I opted not to rise to it. Finally, coming close to where I sat, cognizant of my defeat and internally fuming, he lay down on his towel, belched, passed wind, smiled a beatific smile and eventually let the sun lull him into sleep. Sometime later, a little into his snoring, he passed wind once more. It was the final nail into the coffin of my Pavlovian dreams. I'm sure that the woman who will one day top me in the scale of his love, will surely enjoy all that his dear mother taught him.
On a completely different note: For if you didn't catch it the other day, when you should have... You may thank me later for posting it for you.
Photo by Olgite
Posted by Gypsy at Heart at 1:37 PM