Luke, my sweet boy, has become a guy. I don't just mean he's growing bigger or getting older. I mean that he's finding great humor in talking about poo-poo heads. He loves to make loud, rude fart noises with his lips and then say, "Wasn't that funny?"
The other day, after school, he walked up to a little girl on whom he has a mad crush. To impress her, he tapped her on the shoulder and then made a flamboyant burp. She rolled her eyes and then skittered off to coyishly hide behind her mother. Luke had no idea she wasn't as delighted as he was with the production.
At home, as he gulped down his after-school snack, I decided it was time for a lesson in the ways of women. "Luke," I said, as I moved my chair closer to his. "Girls don't like to be burped at. They like when you talk to them. With a polite voice."
Luke stared at me, or past me, I couldn't tell.
"Even better, ask girls questions about themselves, and then listen to what they tell you."
Luke silently finished his yogurt and granola, and then he leapt up with an urgency that signaled an epiphany. "I have to go poo."
Oh. That kind of urgency. Another pearl of wisdom, lost. Or was it?
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