When he was three, my husband and I took him to the Kennedy Space Center. We were standing in line and another mom was in front of us. She was one of those slim, young, pretty moms wearing a pair of shorts that were not indecent, but my little man must have had an unobstructed view of her rear-end because he was intently staring up her leg before he suddenly decided to investigate the situation with his hand! We were mortified!
It was that day we fully understood we were headed for trouble.
He’s actually claimed to have had a “girlfriend” every year since the first grade. I use the term loosely because, at 11-years old, we obviously have never allowed him to date. This year has been the first that he hasn’t kept a girlfriend throughout the entire school year and I have to say I’m not exactly disappointed over this news.
The thing is, he doesn’t remember being in pre-K and hopelessly head-over-heels for a girl who was a year older than him. I know this because, when he talked about her one day with a far-off, dreamy look in his eyes, he said, “Mom, she’s a girl Spiderman and I’m a boy Spiderman!” They were the perfect match.
I also found out that she beat up any other kid who picked on him. It must have been love.
When he was 9, his summer daycare took trips to the pool at Sebring High School. Once, when I picked him up, he began peppering me with questions about being honest. I inquired as to why he was asking and he said he had met a girl at the pool who liked him, but she was 12 so he told her he was older. I asked, “How old?”
He said, “Well, I said I was 11, but almost 12 instead of 9, but almost 10. She bought me a snow cone, Mom! I think she’s my girlfriend.”
What followed was a long discussion about honesty and enjoying being young while you can because, before you know it, you’ll be all grown up and wonder where it all went. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t paying attention because he followed that conversation with a request for money to buy her a snow cone the next day.
His latest “accomplishment” happened at his cousin’s Little Miss Hardee pageant. While everyone was waiting for the contestants to meet us after the competition, he was talking to a girl. I walked up and asked what they were doing. She was giving him her phone number, of course! She was fifteen!
I said, “Do you realize my son is eleven?” She replied, “Yes! He told me that. He’s just really funny.”
I thought to myself, “Well, at least he’s being honest this time.”
Somehow, I’ve found myself raising a Casanova. At five feet six inches, he is tall for his age and absolutely adorable. At this point, I’m thinking about either breaking his spirit or buying him some cologne that smells like feces. In the meantime, please be so kind as to lock up your daughters between the ages of 10 to 22. Believe me; you’ll be doing us all a favor. Consider this a public service announcement.
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