I remember playing with the boys in my neighborhood and how even at the age of seven, I didn't get them. Their jokes weren't very funny, they seemed to either be on 36 gallons of kool-aid or so quiet I thought they'd gone mute, and they showed some serious passion about really odd things, like cardboard pictures of old men holding baseball bats.
Fortunately, it did not matter much their weird sense of humor or that they were bouncing off the walls with energy when we were riding our bikes around the neighborhood.
At seven, you don't really care so much that a person is off their rocker, as long as they ride bikes with you.
At thirty-three, riding bikes is no longer the relational activity it once was.
So I am having a harder time 'getting' my son. Most of the time, when he shows me his wacky side, I just smile. Sometimes I laugh- which, I'm sure, is what he was after. And other times I just stare at him wondering how I produced such a creature. And I just don't get it.
Earlier tonight, Tyler walks over to his sister, bubbling with hysteria, and says "Kaiti, do you just LOOOVVVVEEE your socks." Not even looking up (she's totally used to this by now), she says "I guess." Just the response Tyler was after, he starts laughing so hard he is choking on his words, "Well, why don't you get a doctor and MARRY THEM!!" And then I laughed, too, because I have no idea what a doctor has to do with anything, and Tyler's laugh is totally contagious. In the middle of this, Kaiti looked annoyed, shrugs, and nonchalantly says "No thanks. I am to young to get married." *Yes, I have raised her right- she knows that she has a lot of livivng left to do before she can settle down with her Hanes tube socks.
At the commissary today, I was pushing my overflowing cart into the checkout lane to pay. I waved Tyler out of the way, so I would not knock him down with my basket of goods. He scooted and I thanked him for moving aside. He says "Si! Mucho, mucho amarillo Mamasita." He yelled it more than he said it, and I was well aware that half the commissary was staring at me. I wasn't sure if they thought he was funny or if they were annoyed by my 7-year-olds lack of cultural sensitivty (because I hear that is real hot-button issue with the 1st grade crowd these days), but I was defnitely aware of the eyes on me. I just laughed a little and said something like "I don't get it." 10 decibels louder, he repeats it "Si! Mucho, mucho amarillo Mamasita!!!" so, I say, "Tyler, that does not make sense. What are you trying to say?" But I admit, I was laughing, because some of the baggers laughed and I could not hold back anymore. And I laugh when I am uncomfortable. He says "I thought you spoke some Spanish. You should know, I was saying, 'You are very very welcome short mama." And then he starts laughing so hard, he started snorting and holding his belly. I tell him that mamasita is not spanish for mama, it's just mama, and amarillo means yellow, but I gave up 2 words in because he was not hearing anything over the cackles of his own laughter.
And last night -Monday night- I walked into Tyler's room to put laundry away. I saw what I can only describe as a cross between yoga and a dancing form of karate. Trying not to laugh, because it was pretty clear he was serious about whatever he was doing, I asked him what he was doing. "I think you know, I am stretching Mom. I have P.E. on Thursday."
Again I say, I just don't get it.
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