Why 11-year-olds shouldn't have phones

Mark's friends were at the house the other day. As they were leaving for school, Josh's cell phone rang.

"Oooooh, it's from Washington!" Josh said, excitedly. His brother Dan asked, "Why is Washington calling you?"

Josh just answered his phone. He listened to the caller quietly for a moment before speaking. 

"I'm only 11 years old," he said. "I don't think I'm eligible."

But apparently his age did not dissuade the caller. "I probably would," Josh said into the phone, "if I had any money. But I don't. I'm a kid!"

The other boys were listening intently to the conversation. Just as Josh opened his mouth to say something else, Sean screamed at the phone.

"Put your pants back on!" Sean shouted, and the room full of boys erupted into giggles.

It did the trick. The caller quickly hung up on a still-giggling Josh.

"Who was it?" Dan asked.

"I don't know," Josh answered. "He wanted me to give money to the homeless. I told him I probably would, but I'm just a kid. I don't have any money!" 

"Then what did he say?" Dan pressed.

"Nothing," Josh answered, snickering. "Sean scared him!"

I just smiled. I always ignore the phone when I see a toll-free number on the caller ID, but now I realize I've got a better option. From now on, I'm letting Mark answer all the robocalls.

It might not amuse the telemarketers, but it'll sure crack me up.

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!

Girls just don't understand

Mark spent spring break at a local day camp, doing what he loves best -- playing sports and getting filthy. He was recounting his adventures one day, and inadvertently gave me a lesson on the different communication styles of males and females. That's right, I got schooled in boy talk.

"My friends and I were playing football, and --" he started, but I interrupted him.

"Friends from school?" I asked.

"No, my new friends," he answered.

"What are their names?" I asked. (We've had many failed lessons about proper introductions. I was hoping maybe a lesson had stuck.)

But Mark just shrugged.

"Did you ask any of their names?" I asked, cringing inside. When little girls play together, they immediately give their names, plus the names of their parents, siblings', best friends, pets, neighbors, and favorite toys all in the first two minutes. You also learn their age, favorite color, food, book, toy, doll, and school, plus their grade, teacher, and classmates' names. I continually forget boys are not like girls.

Mark shook his head. "I forgot to ask their names," he said.

"Well, how do you get their attention then, if you don't know their names?" I persisted.

Mark just looked at me, raised his hands up as if to catch a football, and in his slowest, you-are-so-dim voice, said, "Hey, over here, pass it to me!" He simulated a catch, then a throw to another imaginary kid, and smiled smugly at me.

And so I drove on, trying not to laugh out loud. I also made a mental note not to underestimate boy communication any more. Because maybe he didn't get all the fine details (like names), but he had a blast anyway.