Older, Wiser

A Different Kind of Coming of Age Tale

I got my feelings hurt by a six-year-old the other day.

It happened at the park.

I was there with my youngest, watching him contort his gangly limbs through a too-small tunnel. This place was made for smaller children, but that is not something my son would ever care about. He just turned thirteen, but he’d never regard the sandbox, play structure and spider-web-climby thing as beneath him.

Why would he give up this kind of fun just because he’s turned a certain age?? Just because that’s what other kids his age usually do? At thirteen, my son is literally in his prime. And those other kids? They can be suckers on their own time. They don’t know what they’re missing.

My son always brings a bag of small race cars to the park. He hauls them to the top of the slide, lines them all up, blocking everyone else from using the slide as an actual slide, and narrates the mounting race drama like a color commentator in a booth. One of the racers always gets off to an early lead; one of them always…dun, dun, duuunnn: cheats!

Some days my son brings his cars magnanimously, not just sharing, but telling kids they can take them home with them if they want; other days he doesn’t like when a kid gets within social distance of the cars.

And while it is hardly conventional park etiquette, I consider this his prerogative.