Alarmist Ravings of a Paranoid Mom

Spike and I went to dinner last night at Red Lobster. There was a fifteen minute wait to be seated so I cozied in next to the lobster tank and observed the final, boring moments of their damp lives. In this mild melancholy, I looked up at the entrance of a small family. There was a mother, father and a young son. The boy looked about seven and brandished a small plastic pistol. He jumped around his parents legs and aimed at them mischievously while making those amazing gun noises that only little boys are able to make. His dad played along and grabbed the pistol and holstered it, Clint Eastwood style in his jeans pocket. Then he flipped it out to point at his son. The boy squealed with delight. The mother stood to the side and smiled affectionately at her boys.

I was surprised at how affected I was at their harmless play. Spike leaned over to me and commented that we would never let our kids have toy guns. Of course not, I agreed. But we have a girl. What do we know about raising men? Do boys need this kind of play? Is it harmless? Inevitable?

My daughter is mild mannered and I've never had to consider whether or not to buy toy weapons for her. She has eyes only for fluffy animals. I have a feeling my rigid stance at the restaurant will be tested when we have a little boy who cries for battle each moment of his existence. Then we'll see gray areas. Do you buy him boxing gloves? Swords? Guns that are brightly colored? Let him play with guns as long as he don't point them at people?

I take care of a friend's children once a week. Usually she just drops off her two little girls and it's two hours of tea parties and dress ups. But sometimes she brings her 9 year old son. I am consistently amazed at how different the play becomes when he comes. Recently the girls were sitting primly in the family room enjoying a pretend picnic when the boy came in with a basketful of plastic food. "Can I join your picnic?" he asked the girls. "Sure!" was their sweet reply as they eyed his contribution. The boy then looked at me conspiratorially, motioned to the plastic fruits and whispered, "these are all bombs!" He set the fruit down on the table and watched with glee while the little girls unwittingly ate bombs for their picnic. It made him ridiculously happy.

And that's what little boys are made of. They'll find a way to blow up little girls whether or not you physically arm them. They'll use spoons as guns to hold up the Cabbage Patch Kids. They'll employ their deadly ninja powers to obliterate any obstacle you put before them. This exuberant, puppy-like will to destroy is one of the crazy reasons why we adore them. But do we disservice them by putting actual toy weapons in their hands? I'm surprised that stores even sell realistic looking toy guns anymore after all the school shootings we've experienced in America.

So I ask you mothers of men: what are your rules for raising Hercules? How do you encourage strength and confidence while also instilling a respect for life? At what point do you begin worrying that your child has crossed some line and is becoming the next Mike Tyson? This girlie girl's mom has no idea.