It's A Boy

My daughter is the type of little girl I was.  She likes babies and dolls and can play with them for hours.  I’ve always felt I have less in common with my son, who is more like his dad.  My son likes puzzles and robots and building with Legos.  This summer, however, I have discovered new affinities with my son—and released the seven-year-old boy inside myself.

I like to climb rocks, to run in the grass, to throw a Frisbee, to shoot hoops.  My son was not much into sports before, but last year’s P.E. class turned him on to basketball and soccer and taught him not to duck when things are flying at his face.  Now he is eager to play games that I enjoy, too.  To my satisfaction, I am just enough faster than him that I can still catch him in tag.  Next summer he’ll get away.

I also enjoy adolescent fantasy adventure novels with dragons and elves and magical quests.  (It’s no wonder I married my geeky comic-book-reading scientist husband.)  My son likes fantasy novels, too.  We read them together.  We’ve read all of Cressida Cowell’s How To Train Your Dragon series, Elmer and the Dragon, Cosmic, about a twelve-year-old boy who travels into space, and Dragon Rider, about a boy who travels with a dragon in search of the Rim of Heaven.  When my son’s a little older I’ll introduce him to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and Harry Potter.  I can’t wait.

Of course six and a half years ago I didn’t care if my baby was a boy or girl, as long as it had ten fingers and ten toes.  Now I am glad that I have a son who can be a little boy with me.