Watching Age of Ultron with Mini Cap brought some revelations:
- “First of all, why THE HELL is Black Widow all of a sudden needing a boyfriend?”
- “It doesn’t make sense. Why does Widow get captured? Um, have you HEARD of all the training she went through?”
- “Banner has more of a chance of getting kidnapped than Widow. Even Clint! I mean. C’mon!”
- “What’s prima nocta?” *I explain* “WHAT THE FUCK.”
- “Who wrote this script? Does this person know how tired the language joke is? Like, Steve was in the army. Has this person never met a military person? Never mind. Put Winter Soldier on. Civil War? Is Wonder Woman out yet?”
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Mini Cap and I (Mini is my kid, for those of you who don't know, and he has his own tag (???) which you can find here and it explains a lot of why I do these random updates (this is for the 100+ new followers I got and also HI)) went to go get his haircut. He starts school tomorrow and it's his first day of middle school. So he asks me, “Mom, what's that thing that people do where it's cut kind of high but it's like long on top and then lays over to the side?”
And I tell him, “Pretty sure that's an undercut.”
He googles it, finds a picture and saves it on my phone. He shows the stylist, they talk, she starts, I sit back in the little bench and watch Dr. Phil lecture someone on TV.
What catches my attention is this small little gasp I hear from Mini's chair.
I look over and it's A LOT shorter than the picture. And higher.
I make sure that I have this impassive face on because if he sees ME freak out, he sure as fuck will lose his shit.
Then he turns back around and I'm already texting @yall-mothafuckas-need-misha and losing my mind because it's getting to the point when Mini takes a lot of pride in how he looks and tomorrow is the first day of school and it's so short...
The whole time I'm texting Hannah, I'm saying over and over to myself, “Oh god, oh god, he's going to hate it, goddamn it.”
Then this teenage girl sitting next to me glances over as I am furiously texting and looks up to Mini and says, “Is this the first time he's had his hair like that?”
And I said, “Yeah and I can already see that he hates it.”
She sort of smiles and says, “Nah. It looks good on him.”
I just want to take the time to say that this girl is gorgeous. Long dark hair and hazel eyes and she's just very pretty, ok?
So Mini gets off the chair and his eyes are all bright and shiny and I can see that he's trying not to cry and I ask him, “What do you think?”
And before he can answer, the girl next to me, she smiles and says, “I think it looks really good. Like the guys at the high school. Pretty grown up.”
I wanted to sob and tell her thank you and hug her and buy her a cupcake because Mini's face just lit up and he blushed and looked down and mumbled that he liked it too. When Mini wasn't looking I just told her thank you behind his back and she nodded.
So I was at lunch with Mini Cap and his godfather (my cousin) and we were talking about Ghostbusters. Mini is a pretty big fan of the original Ghostbusters and is pretty pumped for the reboot. So far, I have kept from him the negativity that has been associated with it cuz fuck that.
His godfather brought up a screenshot of Dan Akroyd praising the movie and some fuckboy came on with some utter nonsense and me and the godfather were scoffing at the fuckboy's logic. Mini asked what it was all about and we explained it to him and Mini rolled his eyes and said, “Well that's stupid. I mean, us boys got two freaking awesome movies of boy Ghostbusters. Why can't girls have freaking awesome girl Ghostbusters? Like, that makes no sense. Mom, why is this guy saying this crap?”
So Mini Cap asked to go to the new health food store that opened up in our relatively small town today. He just passed his latest belt exam (!!!!!!!) and was still in his uniform, proudly showing off his brand new belt and his new academic achievement patches (he recently brought up his B in language arts to an A and his C in math to an B).
He heard from someone that eating honey before sparring gives you a natural energy boost (I don't know how true this is) and he spotted some honey sticks and counted out ten of them because they were five for a dollar and he didn't want to spend more than two bucks. I offered to buy them for him but he insisted that he had enough. So we went to the front and the cashier turned out to be the district manager and he asked Mini Cap how many more belts he had before his black belt, what his patches were for, why the honey.
Mini is a pretty quiet kid typically and they were having a conversation and I always encourage him to speak to adults because I don't want him to be intimidated later on. Or right now, even.
So the manager doesn't ring him up and just hands him the honey sticks and he says, “You are such a polite young man. We'll just put these on the house, ok?”
And Mini looked so torn. He's saving up for the Star Wars Force Unleashed for his Xbox but I could hear my own father telling him he has to pay his own way. Finally, Mini shook his head and pulled out his wallet (his cousin made him a duct tape wallet). “It's ok, sir. I got this.”
And the manager's eyebrows disappeared into his freaking hair they went so high. The guy looked at me, looked at Mini, looked back at me and cleared his throat. “All right then.”
Mini paid and the guy shook his hand and said, “Good man.”
Mini looked up at the guy and grinned. “I'm only eleven, sir.”
I don't think I've ever heard someone laugh so genuinely in my life.
So last night, Mini Cap and I were at karate class. Or rather, he was sparring and I was watching from the side.
And when these kids spar (7-12 year olds) they are told to only go about 70% power. You aren't supposed to hurt your opponent. In this setting, your opponent is your partner and you are trying to make each other better.
The vast majority of the kids understand that. They do. They get in the ring and they whack each other around a few times, a few laughs are had, someone wins, someone loses, they all have Gatorade.
Well, there's this one kid in there that is literally forced to go by his parents. And, at first, I admired this kid. He made his wishes be known, he got in the ring without fuss or fight, did his thing, and left.
But. He did NOT want to be there. He doesn't talk to the other kids and he just glares at the teachers the entire time. He does the bare minimum of what he has to do.
Until a few days ago.
A few days ago, in the ring, he started going full power. Hitting, kicking, the other kids as hard as he could. Making as many of them cry as he can. I didn't say anything (not my kid, not my class) because Mini Cap was able to get out of his way for the most part and block most of his hits. But this kid was out to hurt the other kids and no matter how many push-ups the instructors made him do, no matter how many wall sits, no matter how many threats, he kept doing it.
(For those of you just joining the program, Mini is my son, he's the highest ranking in his school, most experienced in sparring, most experienced in teaching among the students, and volunteers at the school to teach the 3-5 year olds. He loves his karate school.)
So last night, Mini gets in the ring with this kid. Mini isn't big for his age. He's... lean. Thin. But he's got this muscle under his gi that you just don't fuck with. I know. We were wrestling and he is almost able to pick me up. We were practicing kicks and he missed the target that I was holding and kicked me (accident) and I was black and blue for a week.
But the other kid is big. He's used to winning with all that muscle. So Mini gets up, gets in the ring with this kid and they start.
Mini goes in for a blitz but drops his guard at the last second and this kid punches him, as hard as I've ever seen anyone hit in this school, right in stomach.
Ok, they are wearing gear, but it doesn't much matter when some kid with anger issues hits as hard as he can.
So Mini staggers back and they call a point. Mini calls for a minute and staggers over to me, trying to catch his breath. And I swear to you guys, I've never seen him like that. It surprised him and he's got tears in his eyes and he's blinking them away. If you've ever got the air knocked out of you, you know what I'm talking about. I swear to you, he just looks at me and I know, I know, he wants to quit and go home and watch cartoons but I grabbed his head gear by the strap and I pulled him down to me, and I whispered to him, “It ain't how hard you hit, it's how hard you get hit and pick yourself up and keep going. Got it?”
That's right, folks.
Rocky.
Mangled, sure, but he got the point.
So he nodded, took a deep breath and got back in the ring.
And got hit again.
The other kid got the point.
And by now, I'm in full mama bear mode, ready to take this kid's mom out back and kick her ass for not reigning her kid in.
But, I stayed put and nodded to Mini and Mini gave me one tiny nod back and they started again. This time, the other kid blitzed in, ready to win the match, but Mini stepped aside and landed a punch to his ribs.
Point to Mini.
So now, the other kid is pissed. There goes his perfect win over the highest ranking student who hasn't been beat but once.
The other kid calls for a minute and goes to his parents for some water and they are whispering to him so Mini comes over to me and leans down to ask, “What should I do?”
And I told him, “Win.”
“Yeah, but how?”
“What kind of body does he have?”
“A slow one but he hits hard.”
“Who else hit hard?”
“Ali. Lee. Foreman. Gracie.”
“But what were they?”
“Fast.”
“And?”
He stopped. Looked around. “Float like a butterfly.” He said.
Can you tell what we do in our spare time? Watch old boxing matches, Bruce Lee movies, old Gracie fights.
Instructors call it back in and Mini is floating. The kid can't hit him. But it's a five point match. Mini lands another hit, pisses the kid off even more, and blocks a sucker punch.
2-2 at this point.
Then they really start going at it. This kid will not ease up. Pretty soon it's 3-2, then 4-2, in favor of the other kid.
It was like living in a goddamn Rocky movie.
If the kid can land one more hit, Mini is out and loses his damn near perfect record. And they are sweating and panting, tired and angry.
So Mini looks to me one more time before they start their next match and it was like- I don't know. I've never seen him look like that. He looked... He looked completely calm.
Mini lands a punch to his chest and another kick to his stomach.
4-4 next point wins.
And the dad of one of the other students is sitting next to me, and he's cheering Mini on, hooting and hollering with the other students and parents, but I'm just sitting there, clutching my phone.
Mini says something to the kid, the kid shakes his head no, says something, and Mini puts his guard up.
The instructors call it and it was like slow motion.
The kid punches, Mini blocks, steps back, kicks, lands the most perfect roundhouse to the kid's ear, steps back, and waits.
He kicked the kid hard enough to knock his mouthpiece out.
The other kid starts crying, just like the other five or six he made cry before.
Mini wins.
On the way home, I asked him what he said to the other kid.
“I asked him if he was going to go 70%. He said no, he said he was going to hit me as hard as he could. So I hit him as hard as I could.” He paused. “I hit him as hard as I could, just like he hit me as hard as he could. But I got up. Four times. He didn't get up after the fifth time. But you are always supposed to pick yourself up, right? You pick yourself up, cry if you have to, but you get back up, put your gloves on, go another round. You always pick yourself up.”
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Mini Cap and the Learning Curve of Setting Boundaries
So, for anyone who has been following me for any length of time, knows that I occasionally update stories that I find interesting about Mini Cap (who is my 10 year old son). He’s at the funny age where he is still mostly innocent of things but he’s starting to find out how fucked up the world truly is.
And teaching him certain things has not only been about him learning things, but me as well.
As a feminist and as a single mother raising a boy in today’s rapidly changing world, there are things that I want him to learn right out the gate.
Two of those lessons collided spectacularly very recently and I wanted to share them with you.
The first has to do with language. Look, kids cuss. It’s an experiment of learning how to express yourself. And frankly, sometimes, there is no better way of expressing yourself than using the word “fuck” or shit” or what have you. As an adult, we have a shit ton of responsibilities but just because a child does not have the same kind or amount or type of responsibilities that an adult does, does not mean that they are not entitled to a shitty day. And I think adults and parents forget that:
Parent: “How was your day?”
Kid: “Terrible. I got a worse grade than I thought I was going to get on my spelling test and Andrew didn’t want to play with me at recess today and the teacher gave us four sheet of homework.”
Parent: “Yeah, well, my boss yelled at me and gave me four reports that are due on Monday so your day wasn’t that bad.”
Like, ok.
Don’t do that.
That spelling test was important. It was. And Andrew not wanting to play at recess kind of fucking hurt ok? And the four pages of homework is on top of soccer or baseball or violin or reading minutes...
I’ve said it before and I’ll fucking say it again:
Just because they are smaller or younger doesn’t make their feelings any less valid.
Goddamn it.
Which brings me to the lesson of a few months ago.
Mini Cap asked me, “What’s the worse cuss word you can think of?”
And I kind of sighed and said, “A lot of people would say shit or fuck or motherfucker but that wouldn’t be it ofr me. I think the worse words are (oh god I’m so sorry) faggot or the N word.”
Which led to a frank discussion on why those two words are the worst for me. Mostly because they rise from such a history of ugliness and violence and hate and anger. And that, along with the R word (derogatory word for mentally challenged) are the only words that I ask him to refrain from using. I use all the other words and it would make me a huge hypocrite to not let him use the same words I do.
The second major lesson is about setting boundaries. Mini Cap has always been a very introverted kid. From the very beginning. He doesn’t let a lot of people in and he needs like an hour alone after school before he can even deal with anyone else. I don’t know if this particular trait is part of being introverted or not, but he has a thing about being touched by pretty much anyone but me and my parents. He doesn’t like it. He has set very clear boundaries with anyone else. I have encouraged him to voice these boundaries, loudly, if he needs to.
And last night, language + boundaries collided, rather spectacularly.
Mini Cap is in karate. He loves it. He is the highest ranking in his school. But there is one thing that he does not like about it. There is a girl in there. We’ll call her Shannon.
Shannon has a thing for Mini Cap.
Mini Cap is vastly not interested in the whole notion.
But they were working on the same bag last night and Shannon kept touching him. I watched as she tried to take his hand and he jerked away. I watched as she petted his hair and he pushed her hands away and snapped something at her that I couldn’t hear. I watched as she tried, yet again, to take his hand.
He snapped. He had reached his breaking point.
“Keep your goddamn hands off of me!” He screamed.
He could clearly be heard over the music, the other kids, the parents chattering over the background.
They all turned to me, even Mini Cap, who I could tell by the look on his face, thought he was in trouble. Instead, I stared back impassively at the other parents who were waiting for me to reprimand him (after all, Shannon is just a little girl who has a crush on a little boy, didn’t he overreact? and what kind of parent lets their kid get away with that kind of language?) and then nodded back to the bag.
“You’ve got work to do.” I told him. Mini Cap nodded, went back to his bag work and the others eventually did the same.
I was getting some pretty hard side eye from the other parents but I ignored it. People will think what they want and I am not responsible for influencing how they think or parent. That is their job.
My job is teaching my son about consent; both for him to touch and to allow himself to be touched. Just because Shannon is a girl and Mini Cap is a boy does not mean that she has free reign to touch him. It would not work the other way and I will certainly not let it stand to work this way.
Look. I know a lot of you are still kids yourself and don’t normally do shit like this, but let’s talk for a minute about some shit that happened this morning.
I had a cousin stay the night with us last night. She’s very church going, “Christ fearing” (I’m still not sure what that means but she says it a lot), prim and proper woman, about my age.
So she’s basically my diametric opposite.
Anyway, I was taking Mini Cap to school and after that I was taking her home.
So Mini Cap and I have this routine when I take him to school. We buckle up, we check the mirrors, he shifts the truck into reverse (I don’t know, it’s this thing he’s recently asked to do), we back up, he shifts it into drive, he grabs my phone and turns on his playlist and turns it up pretty freaking loud.
And Cap’s playlist has stuff like Imagine Dragons, Panic!, FOB, Queen, Kansas, AC/DC, Vance Joy, Mumford and Sons, you get the picture. It helps to wake him up and get him pumped for his day. And this kid just fucking loves to sing. He sings all the freaking time, like you have no idea.
So he has playlist on, we go to school, I drop him off, and I pull out of the parking lot to take my cousin home. She reaches over and turns the music way down and kind of does this sniffing thing and looks out the window.
Ugh.
“What?” I asked her.
She just shrugged. “He’s your son.”
I rolled my eyes turned up the music and said, “Damn right he’s my son.”
And then she turns the music down again (ask yall-mothafuckas-need-misha, you just don’t fuck with my radio) and says, “I just think that you should spend the time on the way to school talking to him rather then letting him blast this horrible stuff.”
I literally:
Look, I have all kinds of reasons of parenting the way I do. I make it an effort not to put down boys in front of him, I make it an effort to make sure that he is capable of doing all the things that he wants to do, I try to show an interest in all the things that he does (video games kind of escape me), we do homework together, we read together, but this kid is an introvert so I also let him have his alone time and ALWAYS knock before going into his room.
But I also let him take the lead in certain things. Sure, I might have shaped his musical tastes to an extent, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be the defining decision maker in what he listens to.
And he needs this time to ready himself for the day ahead. If FOB helps to do that, then fuck yeah, my baby is going to listen to FOB. If he wants to listen to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture to get him ready for his day, then he’s going to listen to that too.
But musical tastes isn’t really the moral of my rant here. See, what is, is that you shouldn’t offer unwanted advice to a parent who isn’t doing anything to harm the child. You don’t know the relationship. She doesn’t understand how my kid and I work. She tried to scold him about saying a “bad” word once and I almost threw down.
He doesn’t belong to me. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it. People don’t belong to other people. He’ll answer to me, yes, for a period of time. He’ll seek me out, for a period of time. And I’ll be here, but GODDAMNIT, don’t tell me how to parent my child that I’ve raised on my own and who you’ve known for all of a year, especially if you don’t have a child of your own.
I know him better than anyone short of the person he chooses to spend the rest of life ever will and it will be a cold day in hell when I second guess myself for the advice of someone who has never had a child of their own.
