Following on from the previous post:
I am glad we grow up. Although I get wistful sometimes when I think about the 70’s, really, they weren’t that great. Nor the 80’s or 90’s. It was good to have endless summers and no responsibilities, but, really, I prefer being a grown-up.
Life is simpler for a child, you can generally coast by with food and clothes and toys and entertainment in various forms being cast at your feet. Boys usually don’t give a hoot about personal appearance, stains, sticky-up hair… They like to wear their favourite clothes until they are grey in colour and leaving behind a small toxic cloud, but that’s ok, for boys.
I’m sure that Neen is glad that I’m not a combination of boyhood stages, too:
The kid who stashes biodegradable material behind the bed, because he knows he’ll get into trouble if he throws it away. Last time I looked, there were no banana peels or green sandwiches roaming amongst the dust bunnies.
The kid who suffers from chronic allergies *insert weak cough here*, whose nose is constantly outrunning his ability to remember tissues, whose sleeves seem just as functional.
The kid who can eat his way through an entire fridge in one sitting, or guzzle sweets and chips and biscuits, leaving the litter everywhere but in the bin.
The kid who refuses to change his underwear, for some terrible unspoken reason.
The kid who believes what some surfer kid said at school: If you don’t wash your hair, the natural juices will start performing properly again, and clean it for you.
The kid who thinks experimenting smoking his way through his mother’s spice rack is coooool. (Dig those cinnamon sticks, man)
The kid who can’t quite figure out girls, and why they are different, and, anyway, who cares when there are trees to be climbed?
The kid who thinks that eating the mints the crossing guard (lollipop man) gives him at school every day are just as minty and good as brushing teeth, so why do the latter?
I could go on, but I won’t. You’re starting to think my parents didn’t raise me well. They did, and I have no callouses on my knees a la wolfboy to prove it. Thing is, I’m trying to raise my boy properly, and he is doing exactly the same stuff.
But I’m glad that after school, the personal hygiene thing kicked in. Chicks, well, exclusively Neen, dig it.
I am glad we grow up. Although I get wistful sometimes when I think about the 70’s, really, they weren’t that great. Nor the 80’s or 90’s. It was good to have endless summers and no responsibilities, but, really, I prefer being a grown-up.
Life is simpler for a child, you can generally coast by with food and clothes and toys and entertainment in various forms being cast at your feet. Boys usually don’t give a hoot about personal appearance, stains, sticky-up hair… They like to wear their favourite clothes until they are grey in colour and leaving behind a small toxic cloud, but that’s ok, for boys.
I’m sure that Neen is glad that I’m not a combination of boyhood stages, too:
The kid who stashes biodegradable material behind the bed, because he knows he’ll get into trouble if he throws it away. Last time I looked, there were no banana peels or green sandwiches roaming amongst the dust bunnies.
The kid who suffers from chronic allergies *insert weak cough here*, whose nose is constantly outrunning his ability to remember tissues, whose sleeves seem just as functional.
The kid who can eat his way through an entire fridge in one sitting, or guzzle sweets and chips and biscuits, leaving the litter everywhere but in the bin.
The kid who refuses to change his underwear, for some terrible unspoken reason.
The kid who believes what some surfer kid said at school: If you don’t wash your hair, the natural juices will start performing properly again, and clean it for you.
The kid who thinks experimenting smoking his way through his mother’s spice rack is coooool. (Dig those cinnamon sticks, man)
The kid who can’t quite figure out girls, and why they are different, and, anyway, who cares when there are trees to be climbed?
The kid who thinks that eating the mints the crossing guard (lollipop man) gives him at school every day are just as minty and good as brushing teeth, so why do the latter?
I could go on, but I won’t. You’re starting to think my parents didn’t raise me well. They did, and I have no callouses on my knees a la wolfboy to prove it. Thing is, I’m trying to raise my boy properly, and he is doing exactly the same stuff.
But I’m glad that after school, the personal hygiene thing kicked in. Chicks, well, exclusively Neen, dig it.
Heh heh. So boys really go through a phase where bathing isn't cool? Thank goodness I was there to enforce my knucklehead's love of water...
ReplyDeleteSounds like you were a handful:)
ReplyDeleteMy parents have always said they only want to live long enough to see their children with teenage children, and then they can die happy. No idea what they could possibly mean :)
@Angel: Yeah- that's why we loved summer- no bathing necessary, just swimming polls and the sea!
ReplyDelete@SMP: You are welcome to babysit, then you'll have a serious reality check :-)
Baby-sit is an oxymoron.
ReplyDelete@SMP: I do feel slightly moronic after a day of Barney, Ben 10 and Hannah Montana.
ReplyDeleteOh, my gosh. I recognize some of those stages!
ReplyDelete@Sherry: Like Shakespeare's 7 stages of man?
ReplyDeleteNot quite- but yes...