“Mom, do you remember that homework that Emma had before? You know that sheet with the farm pictures. There were these sentences that didn’t say anything and she had to write better sentences. She had to add words that described things better and she had to write them correctly. You remember she wrote about the horses in the field and the black and white chickens. Well, that same old homework is in my packet. Now I have it,” says my six year old son.
Not to be outdone by this scrappy whipper-snapper I reply, “That’s nothin’. When I was your age I had a new outfit. It was a beautiful pair of egg yolk yellow culottes with a yellow and white checked shirt. I dressed up and ran downstairs to head to school and my dad stopped me on the way out the door. Hmm, what are these red spots on your cheeks he said and when I looked at my tummy underneath that new shirt I had red spots everywhere. The week before my older sister had the measles and now I had them.”
“Well,” says my young one taking up the challenge, “You know those green and red rubber boots that Emma has worn everywhere? The ones with the fuzzy inside that used to be white and fluffy, but now it’s sort of gray and flat. It’s that pair that she’s pulled on so many times that the pull tab on the back has broken off. The left one has a little strip of green rubber that flaps when you walk because it’s worn off of the heel. Those boots were Emma’s, but now I have ’em.”
“Go on,” I say. “When I was your age my older sister had a red bicycle. She rode it everywhere until her legs got too long for it. For Christmas she got a brand spankin’ new red bicycle. Her old bike got cleaned up and painted blue, then I had it.”
“At least you got some wheels,” my six year old huffs. “You remember that Christmas when our family present was that big rocking horse? That fancy horse all painted green and red and white on the big black rockers. Emma rocked and rocked on it. We named it Christmas Beauty and we all rocked until we got too big for it. Well, it got put out to pasture in my bedroom, so now I have it and I’m too big to ride it.”
“At least Christmas Beauty is decorative,” I reply. “My sister left me her record player when she got too big for it. It was green and white. The lid clipped like a suitcase and when opened it was lined with green felt. The turn table was the size of a dessert plate and only played 45’s. I had to put the singles on one at the time and the only records I inherited were “Daydream Believer” and “I’m Henry the 8th I Am.” She got too big for it and then I had it.”
“Guess what I found in my drawer in my room?” he retorts. “Emma outgrew her pajamas. You know her nice warm long johns. This time she didn’t even wear a hole in the knee, but guess what. They’re pink. Those pink pajamas were Emma’s, but now I have ’em.”
“OK, “I say.”I give up. At least I always got girl things.”