It’s Friday, the last day of school. We’re talking second grade here, no cramming for finals, more of a water slide, popsicle day.
L’s excited. And pensive. A very good year. Moving on.
L and I are listening to the radio. “Same Love” cues up. I’m awed and amazed by this song. We’ve discussed being gay before. L asks again, “what does it mean to be gay?” I’m ready to launch into a long, sensitive tutorial on the subject. I’m interrupted at word three.
L: “Okay, so it’s like if two girls or two boys like each other. Like, LIKE each other. Love each other.”
“And then they get married.”
“So, basically everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and feelings. Got it.”
Walking L to school. He’s holding my hand (swoon) and recounting every detail of his week, from his new “secret move” at tennis to how he can pound the ball in Four Square like a high five…
L: “Mom, I really like walking to school with you. It’s great, just catchin’ up.”
L had a buddy hang out for a few days during his spring break. I had to leave early and drove his buddy home from our Spring Break casa. Hugs were exchanged by all.
L hugged his buddy and said, “I love you.”
Buddy: Hmmm… mmmkay.
L: “I, uh, love you like a brother. You know, I like/love you.”
L: “Or, you know, I think you’re great and thank you for coming.”
Buddy: Me, too.
There are moments, okay, hours, if not weeks, when I wonder if L wasn’t switched at birth.
M: “Did you make your bed?”
M: “Brush your teeth?”
M: “Sing Rihanna’s new song really loudly without knowing any of the words?”
That last one makes me wonder. Because the order in which I would do my chores would definitely start with singing. And, if I ever made my bed when I was a kid, it bore no resemblance to this tidy bit of work.
(Are the stripes of the blankets actually ALIGNING?!)