Boys: Helpless or Brilliant Strategists?
Today, my nineteen-year-old son left for a two-year mission in Brazil. Naturally, I was hit with a wave of questions: Did I prepare him? Did I teach him how to take care of himself? Does he even know how to...I don’t know...soften butter without melting it?
Then, just when I thought I was handling it well, I remembered the special dynamic between moms and sons that no one warns you about: they will try to get you to do everything for them. Everything. Which, of course, prepares them for absolutely nothing!
Take this son, for example. Last year, during his senior year of high school, he sauntered into the kitchen with those classic puppy dog eyes. “What can I do to help you make my lunch?”
Let me translate: “Mom, I really want you to make my lunch, but I’m going to phrase it like I’m helping so you feel like I’m contributing.”
I laughed and said, “You can grab the bread and make your own sandwich.”
He looked at me like I’d just asked him to scale Mount Everest. “But...but...don’t you want to help me?”
“You’re 18 years old.”
Then there was the infamous toenail incident. One evening last spring, he flopped dramatically on the couch, claiming he was “too sore” from ultimate frisbee practice to move.
“Mom, can you cut my toenails for me?” he whined, holding up one sad foot like he was some kind of injured prince.
Again, he was 18.
I stared at him, incredulous. “Are you serious? I am not touching your gross feet.”
“But I just showered, and I can’t move!” he moaned, as if trimming his toenails required the strength of a Navy SEAL.
Here’s the thing about boys (and I should know—I have four): they’re not helpless. They’re strategic. They know that if they whine just enough or act pathetic enough, you’ll eventually throw up your hands and do it for them because it’s faster and easier than arguing. Or, let’s be honest, because you’re a sucker who loves taking care of your little boy. (My youngest is a master at this game.)
In theory, I’m all about raising sons who can pack their own lunch, soften butter without melting it, and wield a pair of nail clippers like a ninja. In practice? Well, we’ll see.
When he calls me from Brazil and asks me how to make a hard-boiled egg or how to get wrinkles out of his shirt, I guess I’ll find out if I prepared him or pampered him.
Hopefully, a bit of both.