True Grit

Rooster Cogburn's got nothing on the men in my house. Okay, perhaps that's a bit of an overstatement. What the heck. Rooster's merely a figment of author Charles Portis's imagination - and characterized by the late, great John Wayne...now brilliantly brought to life by Jeff Bridges. Either way, the topic of "grit" is an intriguing one. Is it innate? Or learned? We can talk nature or nurture all day long, but I can tell you one thing. If my kids were raised by me, solely, they still might not know how to cut their own meat.

The other night I talked the family into getting off our lazy winter butts. So we took a trip to the Wellness Center instead of watching TV.  Once into a friendly game of basketball (girls against boys of course), Cole took a hard pass from his father - directly in the nose. It was a bleeder - a good one too. I was cupping my hands to keep it from going all over the gym floor. But do you think our little trooper cried? Not one tear. He's a little strange like that - a little proud of his wounds. (Last summer Cole couldn't wait to show me how he scraped the hell out of his leg after his first real "slide" in baseball.) When the kid cries, it usually doesn't involve physical pain. Now, this isn't something I would've taught him. Most certainly it comes from his full-blooded stoical German father. Remember the line, "There's no crying in baseball"? Well, in Doug's world, there's no crying. Period. (What a shock when he married the likes of someone like me - who cries almost as much as John Boehner. Almost.)

I think grit can be taught from different positions. My dad told me a story once about his own father taking him out to shoot a rabbit. My dad kept missing him. My grandfather was suspicious of his son's poor aim, so he kept at my dad to get the furry little animal. The point, of course, was "to make a man" out of him. But my young dad couldn't seem to find the rascally rabbit. When Doug takes Cole out to shoot their ever-growing collection of guns, they design all sorts of fancy targets  - (Sunny Delight bottles, milk jugs, green bean cans, etc.).  I'm happy to report that Cole is vehemently opposed to harming any living animal. No bird or cat has ever been injured.

If that isn't true grit, I don't know what is.

The Dark Side?

"If you don't be careful, your son is going to turn to the dark side..." was the foreboding of  my initial encounter with a psychic.  I thought she was mocking my family's infatuation with Star Wars...but as I giggled and she didn't, I realized she wasn't joking.


Last week a few of the girls and I decided to visit the winery across the street because Suzanna the psychic was doing readings for the bargain price of $5! Finally, a chance to hear if I was really going to get that big publishing deal or not...Low and behold, Suzanna felt it more compelling to warn me of things she sees coming in my son's future...and just in the nick of time.


"Does he have trouble finishing things?" she asks.


-I nod. Actually, I think he has a little trouble starting things. But I don't tell her this.


"You don't have a computer or video games in his room, do you?"


-"No." But they are in the room he's planning on moving into soon. Yikes. Bad idea? 


"Tell his father that he needs to spend much more time with him. And don't let him spend so much time by himself on the computer and on video games. The problem is that your son is too damn cute and no one thinks he is capable of doing anything wrong."

Just look at this face...

Okay. I'm totally with her on this.  The innocent little face speaketh too much about the day that he will drinketh. He's way too obsessed with bands like KISS and Guns N Roses. And, of course, I need to shut off the damn computer, IPOD Touch, DS and WII. Anyone know of super-encrypted locks that no nine-year old could hack? Oh wait, Cole installed his own lock on his IPOD Touch...even he couldn't get into until we called Apple... Anyway, who was the idiot who bought those gadgets for him anyway? Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy. But back to my story.


So, even though my dearest Doug thought I was crazy, as usual, and only looking for an excuse to visit a winery, even HE tuned in to Suzanna's advice.  (I think we both are on to Cole and his cute facade.) He got right on the stick and took him out for target practice that very night.

Well, maybe he'll still go to the Dark Side. But at least he'll be there with his Dad. But somehow I don't think so. Cole is very emphatic about only shooting inanimate objects like cranberry jugs...which makes his mother's animal-loving heart very proud. I might not be a psychic, but my intuition tells me that he's meant to be a Jedi.

What Child Is This?

So today Cole and I trudge back to the old farm to see what project Doug is working on. I happen to have my Blackberry and snap this photo because it warms my heart to see father-son stuff going on.


Thank God for fathers right? To teach them how to drill things, drive cars and what? Shoot guns??? While we stood around in the cool breeze with sun shining, Doug mentions to Cole that we need to take his new gun out. Shoot some of the birds back here. I sit quietly, thinking about the birds and how Cole will probably be excited to shoot his gun. But you know what he says?

"What? No! We can't shoot the birds. Can't we just shoot at the barn?"

Ah. Lovely words indeed. My son. While testosterone invades his little body, he's still pretty darn sensitive.

Later today...

I ask Cole if he wants to read Diary of Wimpy Kid(Part 3) with me. He does, so we're reading along when Doug pokes his head around the corner.

"Cole? Wanna play some catch?"

And without a glance, he's up and out the door with his Dad. Sensitive or not, he's still a boy.

Dear Cole....What Women Want

Before we had kids, my husband would say he didn’t care whether we had boys or girls, but if we had one of each, he hoped that the boy wouldn’t have an older sister. (I hope this doesn’t offend Doug’s three older sisters…) God works in mysterious ways; we were blessed with a daughter and a son, in that order. In my opinion, though, it will help Cole to understand women better. You know, make him a better man!

Yesterday, the family took a shopping trip to Oak View. This time, instead of torturing each other, we decided to split up. The girls went one way and the boys went the other. It was really kind of fun. Last night, as Doug and I were debriefing for the evening, we told me a bit of the father/son bonding time he had...After a a stop at Sears and a trip to GameStop, the boys decided to grab some ice cream at the food court. Their conversation?

Cole: "This is so weird. It’s not the end of the shopping day and I got something already. Usually I have to wait til we’re all done shopping in the girls’ stores.”

Doug: “You should probably stay home with me when the girls go shopping. It’s no fun for you.”

Cole: (Thoughtful on this point.) “That’s a tough one, Dad. If I stay home, there’s a good chance I won’t get anything at all.”

So, Cole has learned that if he is patient enough with females, he'll receive a gift eventually. (He obviously doesn't remember when we buy clothes for him during our trips.)
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The other night, we were having a conversation about baseball, since Cole is signed up to play in the “minors” this year. Cole asked his Dad how many baseball trophies he had. I decided to answer for Doug (his mouth must have been full?). “Dad had a nice big trophy in the old house -- an MVP for some tournament. But I think I broke it when I was dusting one day.”

Doug clarified, “Actually, I had lots of baseball trophies.”

Cole looked at Doug with the wonder a son holds for his father, “Really?? What happened to them?" Then Cole was quiet a moment and asked him quietly, "Did Mom break those too?”

Women. We're either shopping or breaking trophies. What'a boy to do?