MY SON, THE GANGSTA
By Pam Sherman | November 6, 2007
My son has really changed in the last few months. He turned 11 last March but he was still my baby. All of a sudden he’s become a semi-man. My baby, who used to cuddle me, now is almost as tall as me. Now he likes to watch football and even understands how it is played. It’s like the hormones started flowing and suddenly football becomes clear. Let me say I still don’t understand football. When my husband - not a fanatic just a watcher of the last 2 mintues of championship games - asks me to look at a play I’d rather keep reading. I don’t even want to watch the instant replay. Anyway, now my son wants me to understand his fantasy football picks. I’d rather keep reading. But he’s my baby and I kind of have to pay attention. Don’t I? My husband - easily ignored. The baby not so much. But FOOTBALL? Who possessed my son? The other thing he keeps doing is talking in gangsta talk. He calls me gangsta. And he likes to rap. And beat box. And dance. But not with girls. Phew.
He’s still a Renaisaance kid. He loves to read. He likes to go to movies and the theater with me. He used to be able to sing the entire score of “Kiss Me Kate” (especially “I Hate Men”) and I’m sure this was incomprensible to his father at the time (just as football is incomprehensible to me). I’m still hopeful he’ll be interested in all these things as he starts growing hair all over. The other day as we were preparing for a test and I told him I couldn’t wait until he could read Shakespeare and discuss it. He was down with it, he said.
But he’s definitely spreading his wings and becoming the testosterone creature I knew he would one day become. He’s like our own Young Frankenstein - my husband’s and mine. Let’s just hope no one comes after him with pitchforks one day.
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