Sometime in these past 1,048 posts (Geez, do I ever shut up?), I wrote about the odd juxtaposition of little boy and big boy qualities in Simon. Actually, now that I find it, it was about Simon’s ability to vacillate quickly between his little boy and big boy selves and how fascinating it was to watch him do something very grown up one moment and then something that only a young child would do the next. As the scales continue to tip towards big boy these days, I am ever more charmed by flashes of little boy.
His teacher, Ms. Thomas, tells me she feels the same way. In a casual chat the other day she brought up that the best thing about teaching really smart first-graders (she came from a third-grade class at a different school) is that you forget how young they are and how much they don’t know for long stretches until their youth and inexperience flashes into the room without warning. Her example was that one minute the class was discussing the Big Bang Theory (the theory, not the show), only to howl with laughter the next at the idea that Turkey is a country. I mean, Turkey is a bird you eat at Thanksgiving right? These kids could explain how gravitational forces pulled rock into a sphere, but they could not get their heads around the fact that you could live in a place called Turkey.
My own example is a little more concrete. Just yesterday Simon took a nasty spill at soccer practice. His knee skidded on turf, and the turf won. The skin was abraded, and blood had trickled down his leg and gotten on his shorts.
He played through it to the end of practice. That’s big boy stuff right there. On our way out, we got some first-aid treatment from Coach Alex at the front counter. More big boy stuff, especially when the hydrogen peroxide came out and Alex told him that it was going to burn but that he had to do it. Back at home, we got Simon out of his kit to more thoroughly clean and dress the wound. Sitting there on the bed, wearing his Nike technical shirt and displaying a sports injury Matt was getting ready to dry, disinfect, and cover, he seemed more big boy than ever.
Until I noticed his undies. They were were pale blue, trimmed in navy, and covered all over in spotted little frogs. Total little boy undies, the likes of which we won’t be seeing for much longer.
As I take stock of his life at this point, there are precious few totems of little boyhood left. His ancient stuffed animals are little boy. His love of cats and Baby Kitten alter-ego are remnants of a mostly by-gone era. And that’s about it. The clothes are all jeans, cargos, stripes, and sports jerseys. His room still has a few little boy items in it, but is scheduled for a makeover in the coming months.
Really, it tells you how fleeting flashes of little boy are that a mere glimpse of froggie undies could bring out the wistful in me. I sure hope there are more than a few flashes left.
Now you understand why I begged you to wear knee-hi’s a little longer when you were dying to put on panty hose.