Two boys, ages 6 and 9, get souvenir stuffed animals. One is a baby penguin, which the boy names "Pecker". The other is a long snake, with a label bearing the name and details of the species, the Asian Snake.
Later, at dinner, the older boy announces to his little brother, "Hey, my Asian snake is, like, twenty times longer than your little Pecker."
The parents exhibit incredible self-control and do not burst out laughing. Utterly amazing.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Pups in Cups
Two fifty-seven. School will be out in eight minutes, the boys will be descending on the house in about thirteen. I get the snacks ready -- bananas and apples cut-up into individual pieces, glasses of water on the table, popcorn in microwave, ready to pop. All set. A few minutes later, my son and five of his fifth grade friends, all new members of the Pups lacrosse team, come clomping into the house.
"Hi, guys -- shoes off, wash hands, come to the kitchen and have a snack --" I bark out as they enter the door.
Various versions of "okay" are uttered, and they disperse. After a brief Nerf dart gun battle, they regroup around the table, eating voraciously, as if they have not been fed in days -- in other words, like ten- and eleven-year old boys. We are doing well on time. They start talking about YoGos, and how good they are. "You like YoGos? I have YoGos. If you finish up the fruit, you can have YoGos," I say to the munching and chattering bunch. "YEAH!!!" they reply, and five pairs of hands grab at the remaining fruit on the plate. I bring out the YoGos and five pairs of hands grab at them -- as if they have not been fed in days -- and the happy sound of boys talking with their mouths full of chewy food fills the room.
I look at the time, and we are still doing well. "Okay, guys -- if you're finished eating, get ready to go, we need to leave in three minutes." The boys scatter again, with some clearing their dishes, others just getting up and finding their gear bags. Soon they are all sitting on various parts of the living room floor, putting on shoes and goofing around. Then, one of them announces: "Oh, I think I'll put on my cup now." He leaves the room as the rest of the boys do a collective but silent, "Oh, yeah ... my cup ..." which is replaced by each boy also announcing "I have to put mine on, too!" Soon, they are emerging, one by one, each rapping the knuckles of his fist on his crotch, resulting in the heretofore unknown-to-my-ears sound of jock knocking. Like primates pounding on their chests ... but lower.
Fifteen minutes later, we are twelve minutes late and still getting the guys into the car. The discussion turns to where one of the boys is, and why it is taking him so long to put on his cup. Speculation abounds. The boy in question emerges and gets into the car, bombarded by all the other boys asking him, "Hey, why did it take you so long to put on your cup?" and we are able to finally leave the house. The conversation is, of course, about cups. I am driving along, trying to eavesdrop, but the only thing I can make out at this point is somebody saying, "Hey!!!" and another boy annoyedly responding, "What?!! I just wanted to check if you had your cup on." Hmmm, that doesn't sound good. I feel compelled to set some rules. "Okay. OK!!! -- HEY YOU GUYS -- HEY! HEY! Okay, one of the rules in this car is 'no --'"
Boy A: "-- crotch talking?"
Me: "No ... although, that's a good rule, too."
Boy B: "-- crotch touching?"
Me: "Well, kind of -- the rule is 'NO PHYSICALLY CHECKING IF ANOTHER GUY HAS HIS CUP ON.' You can check your own cup, and that's it. Got it?" In unison (well, almost): "Okay."
I drive up to the field, and they scramble out of my car with a chorus of mumbled "thank you for the ride"'s as they disperse. I watch them as they continue in their own little fifth grade boy world, still acting very much like elementary school boys in their pre-teen bodies, and find myself really enjoying this moment -- feeling wonderfully entertained by these goofy little pups, wearing their cups.
"Hi, guys -- shoes off, wash hands, come to the kitchen and have a snack --" I bark out as they enter the door.
Various versions of "okay" are uttered, and they disperse. After a brief Nerf dart gun battle, they regroup around the table, eating voraciously, as if they have not been fed in days -- in other words, like ten- and eleven-year old boys. We are doing well on time. They start talking about YoGos, and how good they are. "You like YoGos? I have YoGos. If you finish up the fruit, you can have YoGos," I say to the munching and chattering bunch. "YEAH!!!" they reply, and five pairs of hands grab at the remaining fruit on the plate. I bring out the YoGos and five pairs of hands grab at them -- as if they have not been fed in days -- and the happy sound of boys talking with their mouths full of chewy food fills the room.
I look at the time, and we are still doing well. "Okay, guys -- if you're finished eating, get ready to go, we need to leave in three minutes." The boys scatter again, with some clearing their dishes, others just getting up and finding their gear bags. Soon they are all sitting on various parts of the living room floor, putting on shoes and goofing around. Then, one of them announces: "Oh, I think I'll put on my cup now." He leaves the room as the rest of the boys do a collective but silent, "Oh, yeah ... my cup ..." which is replaced by each boy also announcing "I have to put mine on, too!" Soon, they are emerging, one by one, each rapping the knuckles of his fist on his crotch, resulting in the heretofore unknown-to-my-ears sound of jock knocking. Like primates pounding on their chests ... but lower.
Fifteen minutes later, we are twelve minutes late and still getting the guys into the car. The discussion turns to where one of the boys is, and why it is taking him so long to put on his cup. Speculation abounds. The boy in question emerges and gets into the car, bombarded by all the other boys asking him, "Hey, why did it take you so long to put on your cup?" and we are able to finally leave the house. The conversation is, of course, about cups. I am driving along, trying to eavesdrop, but the only thing I can make out at this point is somebody saying, "Hey!!!" and another boy annoyedly responding, "What?!! I just wanted to check if you had your cup on." Hmmm, that doesn't sound good. I feel compelled to set some rules. "Okay. OK!!! -- HEY YOU GUYS -- HEY! HEY! Okay, one of the rules in this car is 'no --'"
Boy A: "-- crotch talking?"
Me: "No ... although, that's a good rule, too."
Boy B: "-- crotch touching?"
Me: "Well, kind of -- the rule is 'NO PHYSICALLY CHECKING IF ANOTHER GUY HAS HIS CUP ON.' You can check your own cup, and that's it. Got it?" In unison (well, almost): "Okay."
I drive up to the field, and they scramble out of my car with a chorus of mumbled "thank you for the ride"'s as they disperse. I watch them as they continue in their own little fifth grade boy world, still acting very much like elementary school boys in their pre-teen bodies, and find myself really enjoying this moment -- feeling wonderfully entertained by these goofy little pups, wearing their cups.
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