We went on a “snow trip” this weekend and as we were looking for a spot to build a snowman and pull the kids on the sled, my husband and I felt compelled to iron out exactly what kinds of winter activities will serve them best when they’re eighteen.
I’m not kidding.
For instance… To ski or to snowboard? Since we have boys, we reasoned, they should definitely learn to snowboard. I mean, imagine the tragedy of being fifteen among the cool snowboarders and you’re the sissy on skis. We’d be downright irresponsible parents if we didn’t prepare them to be hip snowboarders when they’re teenagers.
Alright, it’s silly. We know. But we’re not alone in trying to guess exactly what they’ll want to do down the road so we can adequately prepare them for it. Have you ever noticed how everyone wants to determine what your two-year-old will be when he grows up based on his interests of the moment? My little one is obsessed with tractors… and back-hoes, bobcats, dump trucks… even trains. Quick, somebody assure me this is not an indication of what his interests will be when he’s twenty-five.
If it is, of course I’ll love him anyway, but I was kind of hoping we might be able to converse about something other than “scoopers” and seed drills one day. So I’m really counting on him to expand his horizons somewhere down the road.
Ditto for J. (the four-year-old) who is, naturally, either going to be an entomologist or a paleontologist when he grows up… I mean, he likes dinosaurs and bugs.
Almost all little boys like dinosaurs? Don’t try to tell my mother that. Don’t try to tell her he may or may not be a genius either.
Do all people believe their grandkids are geniuses? My mother thinks that when J. was a one-year-old staring at the television, that he was “concentrating” and therefore obviously so smart. (Uh, Mom, that’s called “spacing out,” not concentrating.) Then again, perhaps it takes a lot of skill and intelligence to watch TV, and I’m raising the next Stephen Hawking. Who knows... but hearing the TV referred to as “the idiot box,” doesn’t give me very high hopes.
What Grandma doesn’t know is that when J. talks about all of the possibilities of things he can do for work when he grows up, he often says he wants to be “a daddy” and “the guy who puts gas in our van.” It won’t exactly be my dream-come-true, but on the up side, plans like that don’t put too much pressure on us as parents. I mean we can probably help him achieve both of those goals with minimal effort and expense.
Now don’t get me wrong, of course, my kids are geniuses, but I just don’t think there’s any way an unbiased source would notice, unless pretending to throw up on your brother is a sign that makes MENSA stand up and take notice.