Balls

The Boy and Jack at times seems to have a dreadful time getting along. The Boy will be thirteen in one month, and many cultures honor that time as a passage to manhood. I suppose there was a time before the birthday for fathers and sons to have forced time together learning how to hunt buffalo, shoe a horse or learn ancient Hebrew texts. What happens in modern society, where my husband's skills will not match my son's? Jack can't bring The Boy into the hospital and teach him how to be a doctor, nor can Jack program a robot, design rockets and buy the fuel, or teach him secret soccer skills. What happens when we as parents are supposed to nurture our kids' interests when they are so different from our own?

There is only so much a mother can do to be a male role model. I get there are millions of single moms and thousands of two mom families raising boys. Bless their hearts. Maybe they have an easier time without two alpha males living under the same roof, two males who are constantly thumping their chests. Because The Boy lives in this house, he needs his dad. What he needs his dad for is a large and looming question.

What can the Boy and Jack do to bond? It is not for me to decide, but them. The Boy plays soccer. Jack doesn't. Jack swims and runs. The Boy doesn't. They both ski, which is good, but that is only a seasonal activity. The Boy is getting faster, taller, bigger, stronger, while Jack's knees are wearing out. Jack can't keep up with the Boy on the slopes as well as he used to. The Boy is moody and grumpy and a pain in the ass at times, but I'd be grumpy too if I grew a half an inch taller in a few weeks. Jack's tolerance for this sassy attitude is low. How can two male cheetah's survive in the same cage? They don't.

Thank god for the NCAA basketball tournament. Just in time for the Boy's growth spurt and turning into a teen, Jack and the Boy have something to discuss that doesn't place me in the middle. They read the sports page, search the internet for scores and watch the games. They both saw the buzzer beater three point shot of Northern Iowa over Texas. (I was there, reading my book while the game was on, and only saw the replay.) They discuss Hawaii and Michigan State. There is no argument, no fighting, no posturing. Just basketball. In the spring, it might be baseball, in the summer the Sounders, and in the fall, the Seahawks.

I never quite understood the point of people watching highly paid athletes perform when the average Joe could just as easily be out getting exercise, but now I get it. It gives the pack of alpha males, whether father and son, neighbors or co-workers, a chance to root for the same team, to be on the same side, even when in so many other areas they are competing.