Everyone has heard that women are from Venus and men are from Mars, but did you ever think that these ingrained differences in the sexes are instilled long before we start dating? I recently had the opportunity to have lunch with each of my two children (my son, Jarod, age 8 and my daughter, Brooke, age 6) at their elementary school two days in a row. Please allow me to share with you the vast differences in these mind boggling encounters and you might reach the same conclusion that I have – little boys and little girls are VERY different, right from the beginning.
Entering the Classroom:
As I entered my daughters first grade classroom, I was greeted with a headlong rush into my arms followed by a soupy kiss. Almost in synchronized harmony, a cacophony of little girl voices called out “Hello, Brooke’s Mom!” I was then nearly trampled by Brooke’s chattering friends as they all clamored with inquiries to sit with Brooke at the honored table of “Parent Visitors”. I was flush with the feeling of celebrity.
The next day, I entered my 8 year old son’s room, high on the intoxicating welcome I had received in my daughter’s room and pumped up with confidence of a reception equivalent to royalty. My illusions of grandeur were instantly squashed. My son, Jarod, didn’t get up, greet me or otherwise acknowledge my arrival other than the nearly imperceptible nod of the head that I would have missed had I blinked at that exact moment. The little boy who curls into me at night and engages in nightly negotiations for more ‘Mommy time’ hardly flinched. I stood there in the doorway limp, not sure what to do with myself. Until one of Jarod’s buddies, Sam (names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent), threw an eraser that caught me in the eye. And so I stood there with a leaking eye and an empty purpose until the teacher lined everyone up for lunch.
The Walk to the Cafeteria:
Brooke walked briskly and silently with me at her side, just as the teacher instructed. She even shushed me when I tried to ask her a question. Sam bumped into Jarod’s back, which caused him to catapult into Ben’s legs, tripping him and landing all three of them in a pile of squirming legs. When I tried to shush them and straighten them out, I was instructed by their teacher to “Please keep the boys under control”. At that moment I realized I was out of my league. I did not want to be in charge of the boys. They were more than happy to ignore my input. So I pretended I didn’t hear their guffaws and concentrated on not getting tripped down the hall. The boys ignored the girls as if they wore coats that rendered them invisible, except for when Zachary (the ‘funniest kid in the class’ according to Jarod) tossed a piece of gum at Georgina that stuck in her hair.
The Lunch:
Brooke and her gaggle of girls sat in a flurry of pink lunch boxes and giggles. Seating arrangements that had clearly been discussed, planned and bargained since early morning. Once seated, they swarmed over me, chattering without pause about their latest Webkins acquisitions, their names, clothing, preferred foods, best friends and birthdays. If you don’t know about Webkins, they are stuffed animals and unworthy of so much personal data. But, I listened intently, my neck twisting left to right trying to absorb each girl’s litany of important details as my head started pounding. Olivia announced that Brooke had a crush on Keegan, to which Brooke yelled “Shut up, Olivia!” and hid her face in her Tupperware container. Oh, boy, and this is only first grade.
Jarod and his buddies plopped into the seats furthest from the girls. Samuel moved Ben’s chair at the last moment and he crashed to the floor. Apparently, that is great fun and a daily event. As I grew up with only a sister, I was vastly unprepared for boy talk and boy humor. The discussion centered around only three topics: belches, gas and throwing up. Samuel ended every comment with the phrase “And then he got his head chopped off and got killed”. Seriously, no matter what was discussed, someone got their head chopped off. I am not a complete rube and I was well aware that my son, on a normal day where his mother was not hovering at his elbow, would normally participate in these disgusting and hilarious topics. Thankfully, that day, he resigned himself to laughing hysterically when Ben projected gas loudly over a dozen times and Samuel suggested a belching contest.
