Old Hat

I hosted a “lunch bunch” play date yesterday with Hugo and two of his friends, both boys. They played and had a great time as usual, and at pick up time Henry’s mother, Michele, showed up with an old friend of hers. They arrived to a scene that I have come to find typical: Hugo and Jonas were dueling with wooden tomato stakes in the yard, Henry was banging nails into a piece of wood with a hammer, and when he saw his mom, he ran to pick up the home-made gift Hugo gave him: an axe. Hugo had found a triangular rock and slid it up into a piece of split bamboo, and tied it into place. I was so proud of his creativity after he made it. I mean, he’s only five.

But then I noticed the somewhat surprised look on the face of Michele’s friend and surveyed the scene for the first time that day through the eyes of an outsider who happens to be a non-parent. It looked violent. There were weapons and sharp things and tools everywhere. All activity centered around banging and chopping and lunging with sharp objects. Michele and I must have had the same thought and burst out laughing. Her friend said, “I guess you get used to this.” And yes, I guess you do.

I am so used to boy play now I barely notice it. I have long come to accept that most boys like weapons and rough housing, it’s part of their DNA. If I hadn’t noticed Michele’s friend’s reaction to the scene and he’d asked me to describe Hugo, I’d say that he’s basically pretty gentle, and I would have said that while he was dueling, without a hint of sarcasm. And he is, for a boy. I’ve learned that although this is the way most of them often play, that it’s not really complete chaos. They want to know how to use the tools correctly and they don’t want to hurt their friends. They have a kind of “off” button so that if things get a little out of hand they can switch gears and lighten up.

The other day after soccer practice Hugo was actually wrestling with a little girl, Stella. They have known and loved each other forever, and although they were throwing each other to the ground, they were laughing the whole time. I was so happy to see them having so much fun together, when another little boy from the team ran over and wanted to join in their fun. His mother told him no, he couldn’t play with them, because it wasn’t nice. She practically grabbed her son by the ear and led him away, while he kept turning back longingly, every fiber in his body wanting to wrestle with his teammates. And I really felt awfully sorry for that kid.

My husband read an article a few years ago that said that boys who have fathers that wrestle with them do much better socially than those who don’t. The reason is because they learn how to have physical fun with their friends, but they also learn how to do it safely and how to not let this type of play get out of hand. The instinct is there, and by wrestling with their dads, they learn how to make it a safe outlet for fun. I’ve noticed that kids all seem to know which other boys can do this appropriately, and which can’t. To the casual observer it just looks like a rough pile of boys, but among the boys there seems to be consensus about who never means to hurt anyone and who does, and who won’t stop when you tell him to.

If you haven’t been around lots of little boys before, it can take some getting used to. But to me, it’s old hat.

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