Happy New Year! I’m almost back in the mood for writing but in the meantime I thought I’d dig up a fossil. This subject is always relevant and ongoing in a house full of boys. ~ RD
Seems to me that kids start having body issues as soon as they’re fully aware that they have one. Tyson held his hand up today and looked at it for a good ten seconds. Going by the look on his four-month-old face, it wouldn’t have surprised me to hear him screaming ‘Get it off me, its eating my arm!’
When I tickled his foot to calm him down he smiled and giggled while his eyes said, “Dad, where the hell is that sensation coming from?”
“You should be a bit more concerned that your eyes are talking,” I replied.
At the shopping centre yesterday, Lewis kept pulling my t-shirt down and pointing out to anyone close by that I had hair everywhere. I tried to distract him with all the pretty lights but he was too persistent and so I tackled it head on:
Reservoir Dad: Yep, I’m hairy. You’ll grow hair on you chest one day too, mate.
Lewis: No. I won’t.
Reservoir Dad: Yep, you will.
Lewis: I won’t!
Reservoir Dad: Uh, you will. You’ll get hair everywhere. Be happy. It’s cool.
Lewis: Oh, yeah. I will. And on my arms and on my legs and on my hair and my face and eyes and bum-bum (etc etc etc)
So going by his enthusiastic little summation, in twenty years we can expect Lewis to turn up to family dinners looking like this –
Of course, when it comes to boys (and men) and body image issues, you can’t beat the penis (did I just write that?). At this point in time, in our house, it’s referred to as the ‘willy’. (Just so you’re sure of what we’re referring to, here’s one I prepared earlier – )
Archie, Lewis and Tyson all have one (that’s one each, not one between them) and the obsession with them is clear (and familiar). In a few short years Arch and Lewy have shown me the amazing things you can do with a willy. Here’s a short list –
- stretch and twist it, get-the-chewy-off-your-boot style, to the point where it seems like it just might snap
- dip it, by squatting down, into cups, buckets, boots, just about everything
- paint it
- wiggle it enthusiastically by swivelling the hips
- include it in daily conversation
Being a grown man, who has a willy himself, I fully understand the curiosity/obsession involved and I’m qualified enough to explain to the boys that they will never ever tire of it. Only difference between Reservoir Dad as a child and Reservoir Dad now, is that it was my Mum who told me to ‘get my hands off it’ in my childhood, these days it’s Reservoir Mum.
Anwyay, thought I’d leave you with this little occurance. When Archie was two-ish and fresh from the exploration and discovery of the willy, he followed Reservoir Mum into the toilet. When Reservoir Mum stood up Archie leaned close, looked at the front of her, then looked at the back of her, and with all the toddler-ish concern he could muster, said:
“Mummy? Willy gone…?”
Soon, we will have to tell him about the Fagina (stay tuned for future posts on that one!), but for the time being he can go on believing that Mummy’s just a little bit deformed in her pants.