We really are raising a generation of sissies. I had a large family party at my house a few years ago and one of the mother’s wouldn’t let her kid touch my sons Nerf guns, took a lot to restrain myself.
(Huffington Post) — I woke up this morning to my nearly 5-year-old son, his big blue eyes close to mine, saying “Mama! Let’s play!” Somehow, I dragged myself to the living room where he had set up dinosaurs. He told me the rules: “My dinosaurs have superpowers and yours don’t. Mine find yours and then kill them with their power!” That woke me up.
I wondered if I should say something to him about killing — again. I tried to redirect the violence in the play by having my dinosaurs offer friendship and joint living in a cave. He didn’t bite. “No! they are not friends! OK mama? OK?” “OK,” I said, in resignation. Because at that moment, it felt like I had lost that battle.
What happened to my gentle little boy who would cradle his dolls if they happened to fall on the ground? Where is the boy who would never consider the possibility of intentionally hurting another? And where did this one, who pretends to shoot others, come from? “My son will never do that,” I used to say. […]
Guns first showed up last year. Amidst his love affair with Mary Poppins and Annie, he also started asking about weapons. He wanted me to cut a gun out of cardboard so he could take it to school. Mortified, I imagined his teachers’ reactions when they saw it.
We talked about how guns are best used for protection, only by those whose job it is to protect — the police, the army. I told myself that he was interested in guns in the same way he was interested in a policeman’s pad, handcuffs and hat — fun tools of the trade. […]
On some days I allow him to defeat me with his powerful dinosaurs. I let him make up the rules and I pretend to be scared of his strength. He becomes exhilarated and later seems to be much better company during the dinner/bath marathon.
On other days I fight back, unable to put my own sense of powerlessness aside. My army people find a place to hide, my dinosaurs demonstrate their own strength and I try to outsmart him (we all know it is impossible to outsmart a kid).
On my worst days I freeze up. He mentions guns and I wonder where I went wrong. I feel as though the future is bleak and full of pain and war, and I couldn’t do anything to help, not even raise a mensch. In those moments, I don’t allow him to be him.
I talk to him about the difference between play and real life. I tell him that, in real life, guns and weapons can hurt people to the point of death. We talk about what it means not to be living anymore.