It's a People thing

I take umbrage at the term "single parent," because while technically it's true, it diminishes my role. I'm not a single parent, I'm a double-parent, both Mom and Dad. In my home, I do all the work, but I only get half the credit.

Most of the time, I do a pretty good job raising Mark on my own. But let's face it, there are some times that I am an inadequate parent, not because of anything I did wrong, simply because of genetics. Gender differences. The fact that males and females are wired differently, and no matter how hard I try, I'm just never gonna be interested in monster trucks or weaponry any more than Mark is interested in talking about his feelings. ("I'm a guy," he chides me constantly. "We talk about video games, yo-yos, and sports--not about what we did over the weekend!")

But the truth is, he hangs out with me and my friends a whole lot, and as a result, he's become a big fan of both gossip and the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

I do try to balance out all the feminine influence by also encouraging Mark's natural male tendencies. I watched both Transformers movies with him (cars, robots and guns!), and when we watch America's Funniest Home Videos, I no longer fast-forward through the segments featuring baseball bats and soccer balls to the groin area (he loves those clips). I also turn a blind eye to his burping contests, as long as we're home and there are no easily offended people around.

But the other day, I realized maybe I need to try a bit harder, to give a little more time to nurturing both his feminine and masculine sides. This realization occurred during a Katy Perry song, when she was singing about being like a firework.

"Do you think she wrote this song for Russell?" Mark asked from the back seat.

Oh no, you din't, was the first thought that popped into my head. But what I said out loud was, "Russell who?"

I knew Mark would answer correctly, but I asked anyway.

"Russell Brand," he answered. "Her husband."

I looked at him in the rear view mirror for a long minute. There's no reason a 10-year-old boy should know who Katy Perry is married to.

"What?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"How do you know who she's married to?" I asked him. Don't say it, I begged silently. Please don't say it. But he did.

"People magazine," he answered, then flashed a huge, toothy grin at me.

And so I had to act, and quickly. I had to counteract the damage of being surrounded by too many females, and I had to give Mark a little guy time.

So I dropped him off at my brother Smed's house, where they engaged in a massive Nerf dart gun war. By the time I picked him up, he was exhausted and happy, and I no longer felt like I was depriving Mark of a male influence.

I bet dual-parent families never worry about stuff like that!