Boy Toys

I have to admit at this point, that as much as I love my sons, I am not really a big fan of playing with robots, superheroes, cars or other boy paraphernalia. Perhaps it’s because I’m a female (if I can be horribly politically and socially incorrect for a moment), perhaps it’s because I’m a grown up, or perhaps it’s just because sitting on the hard wood floor for more than a half hour at a time is just not physically comfortable after the age of twelve.

I faked it for the first three years of Max’s life. Tried valiantlyto get over that initial brain fog after being requested to come up with a name and a story for the matchbox car I held glumly in my hand. “Um, this car is named Tiffany and she works at the t.v. news station.” (Obviously, I grew up playing Barbies, not cars.) Eventually, when the conversation would turn to ‘playing cars’ or ‘playing Batman’, I would slyly redirect. “Hmm… hey, how about Go Fish? I bet you can beat me.”

Given my horror for anything boy toy related (other than vintage Madonna songs), you can imagine my anxiety when Max asked me today if I could ‘be’ a plane flying over and taking pictures of the evil exploits of an evil robot and report back to its evil creator, Doctor Cockroach.

“Ummm…” I hesitated. “Well, what is Dr. Cockroach going to be doing?”

“Oh, he’s just going to be chilling out.”

“Oh, well, if he’s not busy, why can’t he take the pictures?”

“Because the camera is in the plane, duh!” Max looked at me with an exasperated expression.

“Oh, right.” I was silent for a moment. “Well, why didn’t Dr. Cockroach think to have a camera attached to the evil robot. You know, so he could record his own exploits?”

“Oh, he has a camera.” Max said casually. “But it only takes pictures of his insides.”

“His INSIDES?” I asked. “Well, that doesn’t sound as important as taking pictures of his outsides – you know, so Dr. Cockroach knows when he’s destroying stuff.”

Max smiled knowingly. “Taking pictures of his insides helps when he breaks down. So, Dr. Cockroach knows how to fix what’s wrong.”

I certainly couldn’t argue with that.

“O.K., that makes sense,” I admitted. “But, if Dr. Cockroachis such a smart, evil scientist, why didn’t he put another camera on the OUTSIDE of his robot?”

Max shrugged. “Because,” he said, “If anyone saw a camera on the outside, that would be the first thing they would shoot off.”

I was logically defeated. With a somewhat trembling hand, I grabbed the camera-equipped plane (which happened to be made of waxed paper and the remnants of the cereal box from which it came), and prepared to start shooting the robot’s mass destruction of Max’s room.

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Filed under children, Essays, humor, parenting

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