Boys Will Be Boys

My five-year-old daughter is sandwiched between her two little kindergarten boy besties as they stuff their hungry little gobs with a selection of triangled sandwiches. We’ve just taken a snack break from a school holiday playdate at a local farm. Vegemite and cheese is the filling of choice between the three of them, with absolutely no eggs or peanuts in sight due to the severe allergies of C on her left.

To her right sits G, whose number one mission in life is to make my daughter laugh. Consequently, he is currently shoving a single sultana up his nose and shooting it back out again repeatedly, as the other two wheeze-laugh until their breath escapes them. This slapstick routine continues until G suddenly bangs the table in a desperate plea to alert us all that there’s been a grave raisin-malfunction.

The sultana is stuck up his nasal passage.

C’s Mum and I are panicking, thinking we’ll need to rush to the Emergency department due to his blocked nostril, so we scramble to help, with our phones at the ready to call triple zero. Until G’s Mum, as cool as a cucumber and with a pincer-like grip, effortlessly dislodges the former grape, as the giggling explodes once again.

This is not her first rodeo. It is evident that many random small objects have been shoved up that pair of nostrils. To the point she is now unflinchingly adept at their removal.

These three musketeers only met last year and they have become inseparable. Walking through the farm, they hold each other’s hands with such unabashed affection it stops me in my tracks. This moment in time feels fleeting; like it’s inevitable that their relationship will shift.

Boys won’t always be this open-hearted.

Or can’t be.

Or shouldn’t be.

Not in a patriarchy.

Why does masculinity sometimes morph into toxicity?

My heart hangs heavy at the thought.

Their connection is profound, so much so that their kindergarten teachers have commented on the strength of their bond.

These three love each other.

They share their feelings with each other freely. There is no holding back in this trio.

If your heart feels it, you say it.

Say it loud. With your whole chest. It really is as simple as that.

They look out for each other.

Last term, my daughter was ganged up on by three boys in her class. They waited for her to be alone in the yard, mistaking her soft nature for weakness, surrounded her, pushed her and then twisted the top of her arm. Both G and C defended her, told her teachers, cuddled her protectively and wiped away her tears as they fell from her shocked and confused eyes. If she didn’t already have a close relationship with her two little boy best friends, she might have an entirely different perspective on boys in general after this incident.

I’m so grateful for her boy mates.

To think that these three might follow each other right through to Year 12, at the same school I teach, makes my heart swell to the point of bursting wide open.

So here’s to the parents raising gentle, yet strong, funny, yet fierce, little boys.

Let boys be boys.

Let them cry. Be gentle. Smile. Cuddle.

Let them be kind, protect and defend.

Let them express their feelings freely.

Let them shout their love for each other from the top of the playground slide.

Let boys be boys.

Let them be silly and goofy.

Let them dance and sing like Elsa, or paint, kick a ball, pick flowers, wrestle and be Ninjas.

Let them like what they like; cars, trucks, dress-ups or dolls.

Let boys be boys.

Because raising multi-faceted little boys, who will grow into strong, kind, gentle and real men, is exactly what the world needs right now.

Let boys be boys; because seeing these three together really is one of my greatest joys.